Crazy never realizes its crazy, that is part of its charm.
Crazy is also pretty common.
Home grown crazy that is.
International crazy is a little more rare.
And German crazy is legendary.
I am in the Starbucks just a stones throw from Los Angeles International Airport.
Which is right across the street from the biggest, easiest hotel to get to on the main road leading into the airport.
Which means that, on a daily basis, you cannot swing a dead cat by the tail without smacking a tourist square in the melon.
Its late morning and I am well caffeinated.
Why am I not at work? That is an simple question with a complicated answer that I don’t feel like supplying.
Besides, I need something to write about, and I’m nowhere near as exciting as crazy and sarcastic.
And crazy and sarcastic is what I have found.
I have been here for awhile and need a caffeine refill.
The line is light, just a few people.
The woman in front of me is dressed conservatively, mid 40’s, blond hair that doesn’t appear dyed.
Speaking German into her cell phone.
Lets call her Ilsa. (Ingrid Bergman was the hottest thing on two feet in Casablanca.)
There is something sinister about the German language.
Whenever I hear it, I always imagine it being shouted from a podium.
And English with a German accent is even worse.
As she gets to the cashier, she gets off of her phone, unscrews the lid from her plastic Starbucks cup and hands it over.
“Iced coffee, please.” (Sinister German accent.)
“And could you WASH it please?” (Extra emphasis on Wash.)
The cashier is not phased, he nodes and takes it to the sink.
And that is when Ilsa drops the bomb.
“WASH it like YOU are going to drink out of it.”
And the cashier fires it right back.
“I would NEVER drink out of this.”
Take that shit, bitch!
Doesn’t even phase her.
“Please do not touch it to the bottom of the sink.”
There is a dynamic here that is difficult to convey.
Her OCD is obviously the cleaning/germaphob version.
And he is the jaded “Fuck you AND your coffee” cashier.
Its an awesome combo that plays well off of each other.
Once the nazi’s cup was cleaned, to the cashier’s snuff but certainly not hers, it was filled with ice and pour steaming, over-priced house drip over it.
As he handed it over, perhaps a little smirk playing at his lips, she aced his lob back for the game.
She wrinkled her nose, sniffed it disdainfully, glared at him and walked off.
Well played, Fraulein.