On several occasions, both friends and strangers have tried to convince me that coffee drinkers are doomed to a life of poverty and misery. Well, basically. I read between the lines.
This is a conversation that occurred in a location where immediate escape was not an option:
Gargoyle: “Ooomg, I haaate Starbuckz.”
Me: “Oh, well that’s a shame. I’m rather fond of it, even if the coffee is a bit overpriced. Nice atmosphere.”
Gargoyle: Steps fives inches toward me and unnecessarily strokes my coffee cup. “Is that a mooka er sumthin?”
Me: “Mocha? No, just coffee.”
Gargoyle: “Same shit. Both’er deesgusting.”
Gargoyle: “Yer all wasting yer money. Coulda drank a gatorade fer cheaper.”
Me: “I don’t like sports drinks, and I’m pretty sure they’re not intended for casual consumption.”
Gargoyle: “I hope yew like bein short cause coffee does it to yuh.”
Me: “I don’t believe it can stunt my growth any more than it already has.”
Gargoyle: “You look perty short ta me. Can yew get yer own cereal from the store shelves?”
As he trailed off into an anecdote about his years as an all-star basketball player, I zoned out hard. The conversation was slow and painful – not even the light tingle in my lips, a sign that the caffeine buzz had arrived, could neutralize my ire. I timed my arrival at the undisclosed location so that my high would kick in as soon as I put on some Ratatat jams, but the pursuit of that small pleasure was now nothing more than a failed moment in history.
Gargoyle: “…so you wanna hang out er sumethin’?”
Me: “Oy vey.” I’m a magnet for weirdos.