This is the world as we know it.
People are not bad at heart, they just do bad things sometimes.
But, they don’t seek to do bad things.
And people that drink coffee like it piping hot.
And then there is the alternate universe going on at the next table at Starbucks.
The Fat Man, not the one from the Maltese Falcon played by the immortal Sydney Greenstreet, but the 450lbs guy sitting in the Starbucks in Manhattan Beach this morning, is eyeing his 3 cranberry orange scones like a pedophile eyeing a playground.
He has been on the phone for the last 20 minutes with someone who, for lack of a better term, is his evil minion.
Here are the atrocities that I have so far heard:
- At 12:01am on the first of May, any of the tenants (See also, poor unlucky bastards) that have not paid rent are to be evicted. He actually stabbed his chubby little finger in the air for enphasis.
- Shut down his daughters credit account. Apparently, she is 18 and got a job. The atrocity part of this is that he specified that the evil minion was NOT to let her know. Typically you don’t see parents actively seeking to shit on their own children.
- The Fat Man crumbled up two of the scones and put the pieces into his coffee, INTO HIS COFFEE, and let them sit and soak. The end result will be the coffee being soaked completely into the crumbs and the cup will be filled with cranberry orange coffee oatmeal, sans oatmeal. While that might sound somewhat tasty, it was the slow, lurid sucking of his fingers to clean them off that lent the air of unclean dirtiness to the whole thing.
- He informed his evil minion that he had a while to wait before he could drink his coffee because he likes it at ROOM TEMPERATURE.
His look, his speech, his mannerisms, the very air around him is repellent.
If Hitler had a brother that he considered to be a little too extreme, the Fat Man would be it.
I have begun to wonder if others can see him, or if he is just a figment of my imagination, a demon of sorts, sent to torture me as a warning to live a better life. (Much like a twisted version of It’s a wonderful life.)
The man appears to be exceptionally well off, but I hate to use that term.
The words “Well off” seems contradictory.
Plus, he just farted.
I realize everyone farts, but most people try to hide it or at least apologize when they can’t.
He didn’t even lean over on one cheek and let go, it was just a mid-sentence mini-explosion that may well have been a part of his speech, like a comma.
He never paused.
In the back of my head, the part with the vile little voice? There seems to be A LOT of whispering that the Fat Man had just shit himself and that by my not commenting or leaving, I was showing my approval.
Why the voice does that to me is confusing.
I mean, the voice likes being in Starbucks, there is so many things to see and talk shit about.
So, I pack up and leave in protest.
But, I did not manage to get out before I got a whiff of the Fat Man’s rectal cologne.
There is a realization you get when you cut yourself really bad.
Its that split second before the nerve ending explode and pain begins, its the mental realization of how bad it is going to be.
Now, add that the the feeling of being kicked in the balls. (Bear with me, ladies.)
Combine the two and you are in the right neighborhood of me right then.
When you are trying to pack up a laptop and accessories there is only so much speeding up you can do.
Also, the Fat Man began eating his coffee/scone/oatmeal.
I have written and erased several descriptions and 75% of them used some sort of creepy sexual imagery.
Suffice to say it was not pleasant and just left me feeling dirty. Like I needed both a shower and an exorcism just to feel clean enough to begin therapy.
I used to like those scones too.