You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July, 2007.
I pulled up to the window and asked if I could get a 16oz latte. Where most people might say “Sure thing!”, or “Comin’ right up!”, he simply paused for a moment, and said “Yes” as if he’d given it some thought. As if he had considered my request, and in his benevolence, decided he could grant me this favor. After all, they had enough to spare.
It’s unusual to see a coffee man, normally coffee shop employees are cute & adorable young women. These ladies’ uniform attractiveness and pert little bodies make me question the supposed ‘Equal Opportunity Employer’ whose sexist stereotyping I continue to endorse with my caffeine purchases. …and shamefully not without enjoyment.
I honestly believe that, were it not for the beautiful baristas, most men wouldn’t buy drinks at coffee houses. Such beverages, with their European nomenclature, don’t tend to fit with the current American masculine image, at least out here in the Western states. Yet, some of the same men, who ordered their black Folders coffee at Dixie’s Cafe 10 years ago are now found in the Starbucks drive-thru in their full-ton Dodge Rams ordering “venti brevés” for a chance to flirt with these young ladies.
And so I wondered about this boy serving my coffee… It must be hard for him in this profession, I’m guessing he doesn’t see nearly the tips that the girls bring in. Yet, he handled it well… presenting himself as a Coffee Lord of sorts, granting petitions from us customers on an individual basis. He had seemingly bestowed a great kindness to me, and my growing caffeine-withdrawal-related headache. Of course, he still charged me $3.25 for the drink… so it’s not as if I wasn’t compensating him. But I have to admit, I think I was fooled a little… I truly felt thankful. I tipped him the full $1.75 change, and I didn’t even ask him to punch my card… It’s best not to ask for too much from royalty.
For a quick bite this afternoon, I went to a nearby lunch counter. I ordered a simple cheeseburger, fries and drink. I didn’t look at the prices and was surprised when I got to the register and he told me, “That’ll be $6.66″
It’s not that I’m cheap, but I found myself uncomfortable with the figure… it’s kinda… apocalyptic. “Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yeah, $6.66″
I should have let it drop, but I couldn’t. I looked around frantically for something else to add to the order. Nothing presented itself.
“You seriously came up with a figure of ‘666′ for a cheeseburger meal?”
He thought I was dickering about the price. “Well… there’s no discount for a ‘Meal’, we’re not McDonalds…” …he broke down the individual prices for me.
“But still, this figure has to come up a lot, right? I mean, people order cheeseburger, fries and a drink all the time, right? Nobody has complained about paying $6.66 before?”
I’m not a particularly superstitious person and I’m barely religious… I don’t think I’m a complete weirdo and I refused to believe that I was the first person who felt uncomfortable spending the “Mark of the Beast” on lunch. I’m a lousy Christian these days, I usually can’t decide if I actually believe in God, but nevertheless, I was raised to fear both God and Satan in a pious protestant household, and I can’t help feeling a little edgy about Satanic symbols…
“Why would they complain? It’s a good price. This is quality Angus beef…” I could have enlightened him on the symbolism, but I didn’t want to come across as a religious fanatic. Instead, I agreed that it sounded like a great burger. At this point I was desperately backpedaling, trying to seem that I was fine with the price… trying desperately to avoid getting saliva in my burger.
But in the end I was undoubtedly flagged as a total cheapskate. You see, 7 is a lucky number…not at all evil… and maybe if you include the 34-cent tip I gave in the total of what I spent on lunch, my cheeseburger was a good omen rather than a harbinger of Armageddon.
Ironically, the hearty 97-grain bread was supposed to improve my health. But as luck would have it, biting down on my morning toast a few days ago, a particularly firm sunflower seed cracked one of my back molars.
I have an appointment with my dentist next week, but it’s just a preliminary thing, they won’t actually do anything about it until they survey the scene first. In the meantime, it’s rather agonizing. I suppose I could probably push for a prescription of pain-killers, but I don’t want to be a total pansy.
If I were a tiger, I’d have turned man-eater by now.
I don’t remember where I heard that animals with toothaches get vicious, I wonder if it’s true. I also wonder whether it might be true for humans. I work at a police department, I should ask around, though I doubt any of the officers have checked. It doesn’t seem like it would take long… the next time they take a down a suspect, just take a peek inside the mouth…
“Wow, Sgt Smith, it’s no wonder he robbed that bank! Just look at that cavity!”
If this hypothesis has merit, it could change our entire criminal-justice system.
Come to think of it, perhaps there’s already a link. There’s been some news about “Meth-mouth” recently. It seems to be a bit of a mystery, apparently it’s not as easy to determine the problem as was the practice of rubbing heroin on the gums. Doctors are trying to determine whether Meth somehow affects the body chemistry which is eating the teeth away, or if it’s just the poor hygiene of the users. But maybe it’s a chicken-or-egg scenario… maybe the reason they turned to a life of drugs was because of their oral hygiene issues.
I’ve got to get this tooth taken care of before I too turn criminal.
Where’s Hermey, the suspect-homosexual dentist-elf when you need him?
Adam
