Where the hell is Jack “Doctor Death” Kervorkian when you need him.
I found someone who really wants to die.
I am at a Starbucks outside of my usual area, just on the verge of a really nasty section of town.
It has a different vibe.
It looks like a rougher dirtier version of most Starbucks.
Just about every time I come here, a homeless guy will come in and begin to make the rounds to the tables, asking for change.
The Starbucks staff doesn’t seem to notice.
Maybe he works here.
While I am mulling that, she comes in.
Let me paint you a picture.
Her hair is a wild tangle of mousy brown curls.
The mumu is an explosion of what appears to be tie-die and Hawaiian shirt tropical.
And I could be wrong, but Ringling Brothers might be looking for a mumu/tent that big for the next show.
If I had to call it, I would say about 350 to 400 pounds, dripping wet.
As she makes her way to the cashier to order, she eyes the pastry case like predator eying the prey.
She orders a Chai Latte with the following:
7 pump (Are you kidding me? This is a diabetic coming in waiting.)
Double espresso shot.
This would normally not bother me, except that I am all the way across the room and I can hear her order clearly.
A loud talker.
Make that a loud, exceptionally gravelly voiced loud talker.
This woman makes Brenda Vaccaro sound like Mel Torme.
I sincerely doubt that anyone would get this other than my grandmother, may she rest in peace.
But you should Google it and laugh your ass off.
Most people order and move down to the pick up counter and wait for their drink.
She immediately beelines for the front door.
She posts up about ten feet from the front door and lights up.
Her drink is done about 30 seconds later.
Now I see why she wants it extra hot.
She stands out front and smokes two cigarettes.
She is fascinating.
Some people, and she is one of them, make this hideous face when they smoke, like they are in pain the whole time.
It makes the act of smoking even grosser to see than it usually is.
Then she comes back in, the cold breeze that comes thru the door with her reeks of smoke.
She gets her drink and desperately gulps half of it down at the counter.
A bent page paperback appears out of her purse and she sits down across the room.
I make an effort not to stare, but this is manna from heaven.
Just a few minutes before, I was trying to think of a blog subject.
The book holds her attention only for a few moments.
And then she is outside for two more cigarettes, smoking ugly the whole time.
For the next hour I watch as she finishes her drink, gets a refill, reads a total of what looks like two chapters, and finishes the pack of smokes.
When she finally left, she had a little sheen of sweat on her brow.
She has ingested a LOT of caffeine, a little crap fiction and A FUCKING BUTTLOAD of nicotine.
She has worked her ass off here.
If you told her that cigarettes will kill her, she would ask you “When?”
It looks like she would be excited at the prospect of dying horribly.
Good for her.
Its important to have goals.