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coffee shop vignette
Feb. 29th, 2024 03:16 pmhad a meeting with my academic advisor who CHOSE to pick me up. felt so heartwarmed and he asked me if i do a lot of writing. i said i did, and i write silly stories to make my friends laugh. because i do. but here's a stream-of-consciousness vignette about the coffee shop i'm sitting in:
My name's not Sam. It's got none of the letters in Sam, but that's the name I tell the nice lady with the shiny nose ring. She gives me my Large London Fog and says she likes my pants, and I wonder if she's a purveyor of pants or she just saw me swaying waiting near the bar for her to crumple up my receipt and say "Sam" like she thinks that's my name. I showed her my ID with my full name on it for the discount. The military people here get a discount too - the old lady that said "excuse me" and just walked in for the fourth time now, hustling like the next moment she'll keel. Does she miss her husband, the one that's sitting with the baseball cap, wrinkled lips wrapped around the plastic lid SLURRRRPING up his coffee? I only say it like that because he's watching a video without headphones. Not loud enough for me to hear. Just loud enough to be obnoxious. But why else would I be in a coffeeshop?
Someone's meeting a friend. Someone's studying. Someone's having a conversation about non-profits, AND STOP HOVERING OVER ME GOSH DARN IT, just obnoxious enough to be offensive with the pretty braids and the rushed little trot - she's not conversing at all, but the overworked mom mumbling "oh, it is?" to her daughter's question worked too long. It's only Thursday. One more day, then one more week, and she can't catch a break just like the hustler rushing by. Nothing's going to disappear that long - just the booth that they claimed, hot commodities for the folk young and old. Sipping their coffee, saying it's hot hot hot - well, they steam the milk so hot it burns if you drink it too fast. Some people
need to learn
the art
of
patience.
My name's not Sam. It's got none of the letters in Sam, but that's the name I tell the nice lady with the shiny nose ring. She gives me my Large London Fog and says she likes my pants, and I wonder if she's a purveyor of pants or she just saw me swaying waiting near the bar for her to crumple up my receipt and say "Sam" like she thinks that's my name. I showed her my ID with my full name on it for the discount. The military people here get a discount too - the old lady that said "excuse me" and just walked in for the fourth time now, hustling like the next moment she'll keel. Does she miss her husband, the one that's sitting with the baseball cap, wrinkled lips wrapped around the plastic lid SLURRRRPING up his coffee? I only say it like that because he's watching a video without headphones. Not loud enough for me to hear. Just loud enough to be obnoxious. But why else would I be in a coffeeshop?
Someone's meeting a friend. Someone's studying. Someone's having a conversation about non-profits, AND STOP HOVERING OVER ME GOSH DARN IT, just obnoxious enough to be offensive with the pretty braids and the rushed little trot - she's not conversing at all, but the overworked mom mumbling "oh, it is?" to her daughter's question worked too long. It's only Thursday. One more day, then one more week, and she can't catch a break just like the hustler rushing by. Nothing's going to disappear that long - just the booth that they claimed, hot commodities for the folk young and old. Sipping their coffee, saying it's hot hot hot - well, they steam the milk so hot it burns if you drink it too fast. Some people
need to learn
the art
of
patience.
