Tri-Sensory Failure
Incident #1
"Hi!" The girl behind the counter chirped.
"Heyhowsitgoin?" I replied.
"How can I help you?"
She could help me by dealing me my caffeine fix for today. I usually drip my coffee at home. It's part of my morning wake-up routine and saves me $2 a day.
"Yeah," I started my order, "do you have a thing where I can have a shot of espresso in my coffee?"
"Yes, it's called a black guy."
"A black guy?" I repeated incredulously.
"Mm-hmm!"
"Really?"
"Oh yeah," she confirmed.
"Really? Like... give me a black guy!?" I exclaimed dramatically.
"Yeah."
"Um... OK, I'll have a black guy."
"Room for cream?"
"No thanks." Oh no, no one's stiffing me out of that extra 1 oz of coffee.
"That'll be $2.20."
As I then milled around the coffee pick-up area, I thought to myself, there is no way you call a menu item a "Black Guy" and get away with it in a college town, is there?
I stepped back and took a second look at the overhead menu, and there it was.
"...Extra shot of espresso with your choice of coffee:
Black Eye."
Incident #2
"What are you up to right now?" I asked Brianna after some small talk in the mailroom. I'd stepped in to check my mail box, and she was waiting to pull something out of the microwave.
"Oh, office hours," she replied.
"Cool."
I saw her pull something out the microwave. I looked at the circular food item, caught a whiff of it, and experienced a cognitive short circuit of sorts.
"Uh... why does your cookie smell like ramen?" I asked.
Brianna broke up, "That's because it's a veggie burger."
Incident #3
Scotty and I were walking home from the bars. I'm a lightweight, but for a man pushing 300, Scotty's even lighter than me.
I'd told him to park at my place because I knew that the walk back would do him good at the end of the night.
We were going over the funnier events of the evening, the 20 year-old college crowds, the sticky floors of the dankiest sports bar, the standing room in the franchise bar, which I call "the bar you go to 10 minutes before last call if you really really need to get laid."
I started describing the bar like that even before I actually confirmed the veracity of that statement.
As Scotty and I talked, the theme of the conversation seemed to be, "we're too old for this shit."
Oh, it's good fun when you need to get your load on, but yeah, the scene gets old eventually.
We noticed a commotion across the street. It was coming from 2 couples. One girl was walking in front. The other, in a very short denim skirt, fishnets and black boots was trashed out of her mind. The two guys behind them looked like vultures.
"Look," I motioned to Scotty, "that's a date rape waiting to happen."
"That's just wrong," he replied, trying not to chuckle at the truth in my statement.
"Those guys like their chances!"
"I think they do."
"Three kinds of VD walking there."
"Only three?"
"I'm too old for this shit."
We stopped by a corner convenience store so I could get something for my munchies. I picked up a carton of eggs and a potato for breakfast, and some cold deli chicken for the more short-term gastric needs.
As we rounded the last row of shelves and walked up to the counter, the date-rapes across the street were standing at the checkout.
I saw the first girl closer up and realized that I knew her. She was a bit of an annoying loud-talker I met when I frequented a cafe where she worked that I used to love studying at.
Then to my right, her fishnet friend appeared. Underneath a mop of dyed hair, I saw a face I never expected to see.
Renee was an undergraduate in my department. She was not in any of my classes, so the relationship was always more personal and not academic or professional. She was also a reformed sorority girl, turning away from the racks at the Express store when she discovered the wonders of punk rock.
Cute, nice and always friendly, Renee can pretty much out-hot most women I know by sheer force of personality and smile. She moved to another state when she graduated, which was why she was the last person I expected to see.
I said "hey" and she opened her mouth and eyes wide. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh my Go-o-o-od!" she squealed, opening her arms and oh crap, I'm now in a bear hug with a carton of eggs hanging off my elbow.
We caught up on whatever drunk people catch up on, which is not very much. I did find out that she was in town for a day, before flying out the next day for a vacation on another continent.
I then saw that she was with Jimmy, who isn't really a vulture. I mentally took that earlier jab back. I took back the crack about the date rape too.
A little about Jimmy... he is the guy you go to when you want something. What thing? Well, anything. You see, Jimmy's a townie who saunters around the kids. He carries Henessy in his back pocket at all times, and was at the counter buying a refill.
Jimmy held his fist out to me to "pound." He then opened the liquor right at the counter, took a swig, and offered me one as he always did. Some time back, I saw Jimmy speaking to another dude in front of his open trunk, and walked up to say hi. He didn't notice me approaching, and when I called out to him, he swiveled around and looked at me with the look of a guy who was about to go away for 25 years.
I'm sure that if he ever goes to prison, Jimmy will be the guy you go see if you need a Die Hard car battery to break your brother out of prison.
Saying good-bye outside the store was a production. There were more bear hugs from Renee, a little kissyface, and then she decided to smear my face with her spit.
Si-i-i-igh.
When we finally managed to pry ourselves away from that disaster, Scotty informed me of his conclusions.
"You got some questionable friends," he declared.
"I'm too old for this shit. I'm not saying it's not nice, but I might be too old, dude."
"Hi!" The girl behind the counter chirped.
"Heyhowsitgoin?" I replied.
"How can I help you?"
She could help me by dealing me my caffeine fix for today. I usually drip my coffee at home. It's part of my morning wake-up routine and saves me $2 a day.
"Yeah," I started my order, "do you have a thing where I can have a shot of espresso in my coffee?"
"Yes, it's called a black guy."
"A black guy?" I repeated incredulously.
"Mm-hmm!"
"Really?"
"Oh yeah," she confirmed.
"Really? Like... give me a black guy!?" I exclaimed dramatically.
"Yeah."
"Um... OK, I'll have a black guy."
"Room for cream?"
"No thanks." Oh no, no one's stiffing me out of that extra 1 oz of coffee.
"That'll be $2.20."
As I then milled around the coffee pick-up area, I thought to myself, there is no way you call a menu item a "Black Guy" and get away with it in a college town, is there?
I stepped back and took a second look at the overhead menu, and there it was.
"...Extra shot of espresso with your choice of coffee:
Black Eye."
Incident #2
"What are you up to right now?" I asked Brianna after some small talk in the mailroom. I'd stepped in to check my mail box, and she was waiting to pull something out of the microwave.
"Oh, office hours," she replied.
"Cool."
I saw her pull something out the microwave. I looked at the circular food item, caught a whiff of it, and experienced a cognitive short circuit of sorts.
"Uh... why does your cookie smell like ramen?" I asked.
Brianna broke up, "That's because it's a veggie burger."
Incident #3
Scotty and I were walking home from the bars. I'm a lightweight, but for a man pushing 300, Scotty's even lighter than me.
I'd told him to park at my place because I knew that the walk back would do him good at the end of the night.
We were going over the funnier events of the evening, the 20 year-old college crowds, the sticky floors of the dankiest sports bar, the standing room in the franchise bar, which I call "the bar you go to 10 minutes before last call if you really really need to get laid."
I started describing the bar like that even before I actually confirmed the veracity of that statement.
As Scotty and I talked, the theme of the conversation seemed to be, "we're too old for this shit."
Oh, it's good fun when you need to get your load on, but yeah, the scene gets old eventually.
We noticed a commotion across the street. It was coming from 2 couples. One girl was walking in front. The other, in a very short denim skirt, fishnets and black boots was trashed out of her mind. The two guys behind them looked like vultures.
"Look," I motioned to Scotty, "that's a date rape waiting to happen."
"That's just wrong," he replied, trying not to chuckle at the truth in my statement.
"Those guys like their chances!"
"I think they do."
"Three kinds of VD walking there."
"Only three?"
"I'm too old for this shit."
We stopped by a corner convenience store so I could get something for my munchies. I picked up a carton of eggs and a potato for breakfast, and some cold deli chicken for the more short-term gastric needs.
As we rounded the last row of shelves and walked up to the counter, the date-rapes across the street were standing at the checkout.
I saw the first girl closer up and realized that I knew her. She was a bit of an annoying loud-talker I met when I frequented a cafe where she worked that I used to love studying at.
Then to my right, her fishnet friend appeared. Underneath a mop of dyed hair, I saw a face I never expected to see.
Renee was an undergraduate in my department. She was not in any of my classes, so the relationship was always more personal and not academic or professional. She was also a reformed sorority girl, turning away from the racks at the Express store when she discovered the wonders of punk rock.
Cute, nice and always friendly, Renee can pretty much out-hot most women I know by sheer force of personality and smile. She moved to another state when she graduated, which was why she was the last person I expected to see.
I said "hey" and she opened her mouth and eyes wide. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh my Go-o-o-od!" she squealed, opening her arms and oh crap, I'm now in a bear hug with a carton of eggs hanging off my elbow.
We caught up on whatever drunk people catch up on, which is not very much. I did find out that she was in town for a day, before flying out the next day for a vacation on another continent.
I then saw that she was with Jimmy, who isn't really a vulture. I mentally took that earlier jab back. I took back the crack about the date rape too.
A little about Jimmy... he is the guy you go to when you want something. What thing? Well, anything. You see, Jimmy's a townie who saunters around the kids. He carries Henessy in his back pocket at all times, and was at the counter buying a refill.
Jimmy held his fist out to me to "pound." He then opened the liquor right at the counter, took a swig, and offered me one as he always did. Some time back, I saw Jimmy speaking to another dude in front of his open trunk, and walked up to say hi. He didn't notice me approaching, and when I called out to him, he swiveled around and looked at me with the look of a guy who was about to go away for 25 years.
I'm sure that if he ever goes to prison, Jimmy will be the guy you go see if you need a Die Hard car battery to break your brother out of prison.
Saying good-bye outside the store was a production. There were more bear hugs from Renee, a little kissyface, and then she decided to smear my face with her spit.
Si-i-i-igh.
When we finally managed to pry ourselves away from that disaster, Scotty informed me of his conclusions.
"You got some questionable friends," he declared.
"I'm too old for this shit. I'm not saying it's not nice, but I might be too old, dude."
posted by Teach | 10:16 PM
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