If It's Early, Don't Bother Me!
As most people know, I have my own little routine to start each and every day. I head over to Black Sheep Coffee, and I spend 45 minutes or so gradually waking up with a drink, one of my Ipods, and a book or magazine.
Part of this routine is that I can’t be bothered. I’m not yet ready to deal with people, which is why I love my Ipods so much. I’ll say hello to the regulars and employees, but I’ve been known to move on to another coffee shop if I see certain vehicles that belong to well-known loudmouths.
There is, of course, one exception to this rule. I’m always available to chat with beautiful women. Too bad it’s a rare time that opportunity strikes. But there is one lovely woman, Chantel, that I at times see during this time frame. It’s amazing how quickly I become outgoing and energetic when she shows up.
Last week, I walked into Black Sheep as usual, and with my eyes half-closed handed over my mug to the barrista. Ahead of me in line was this bowling ball mess of a guy, with unwashed, shoulder-length hair and a beard.
I paid him little notice, even when he asked “how are you doing this fine summer day?” Ugh, not only is he talkative, but he’s way too cheery for 7 a.m. “Fine, thanks”, I mumbled, and immediately started unwrapping my headphones.
This idiot didn’t take a hint, though. “So, did you know that this election is going to be the most lopsided in history?” Say what? “McCain is going to get more votes than anybody in history.”
Oh God, he’s chipper and wanted to talk politics? I needed immediate help, and started searching for the Replacments on my Ipod. “You know that I’m right.”
Finally, I responded with a weery “I doubt that will be the case”. Big mistake, as he wanted to debate the issue. I finally stopped and just told him that while I’m not doubting that McCain could be the next President, I highly doubt that it’s going to be by a record-breaking margin (especially give what we’ve now learned about the vice-presidential nominee's parenting and governing abilities).
At this point, I walked away towards the couch that I always use to relax. Oh no, he wasn’t through. He followed me, babbling that while the polls may show Obama slightly in the lead, “do you really think that once in the voting booth, Americans will actually vote for a black?” At this point, I just gave him a glaring “are you fucking kidding” look, and pressed play on the Pleased to Meet Me album. I was done with this clown. Thank God he finally took the hint, and walked over to his computer to read what I’m sure was a white power website.
Everybody clearly has the right to their own opinions, and with the election two months away nobody really has an idea who is going to win. But you don’t have the right to accost innocent victims such as myself. Not everybody wants to talk politics 24 hours a day, especially with those who are clearly on the extreme sides of the political spectrum.
More importantly, I don’t want to talk to anybody at 7 am. So if you see me at that time of day, and you don’t have female body parts, I beg you to just leave me alone. I’d much rather be awakened to the Replacements, Wilco, Radiohead, or any of the other 25,000 or so works of art on my Ipods than some idiotic clem who longs for the days of separate but unequal facilities.
Part of this routine is that I can’t be bothered. I’m not yet ready to deal with people, which is why I love my Ipods so much. I’ll say hello to the regulars and employees, but I’ve been known to move on to another coffee shop if I see certain vehicles that belong to well-known loudmouths.
There is, of course, one exception to this rule. I’m always available to chat with beautiful women. Too bad it’s a rare time that opportunity strikes. But there is one lovely woman, Chantel, that I at times see during this time frame. It’s amazing how quickly I become outgoing and energetic when she shows up.
Last week, I walked into Black Sheep as usual, and with my eyes half-closed handed over my mug to the barrista. Ahead of me in line was this bowling ball mess of a guy, with unwashed, shoulder-length hair and a beard.
I paid him little notice, even when he asked “how are you doing this fine summer day?” Ugh, not only is he talkative, but he’s way too cheery for 7 a.m. “Fine, thanks”, I mumbled, and immediately started unwrapping my headphones.
This idiot didn’t take a hint, though. “So, did you know that this election is going to be the most lopsided in history?” Say what? “McCain is going to get more votes than anybody in history.”
Oh God, he’s chipper and wanted to talk politics? I needed immediate help, and started searching for the Replacments on my Ipod. “You know that I’m right.”
Finally, I responded with a weery “I doubt that will be the case”. Big mistake, as he wanted to debate the issue. I finally stopped and just told him that while I’m not doubting that McCain could be the next President, I highly doubt that it’s going to be by a record-breaking margin (especially give what we’ve now learned about the vice-presidential nominee's parenting and governing abilities).
At this point, I walked away towards the couch that I always use to relax. Oh no, he wasn’t through. He followed me, babbling that while the polls may show Obama slightly in the lead, “do you really think that once in the voting booth, Americans will actually vote for a black?” At this point, I just gave him a glaring “are you fucking kidding” look, and pressed play on the Pleased to Meet Me album. I was done with this clown. Thank God he finally took the hint, and walked over to his computer to read what I’m sure was a white power website.
Everybody clearly has the right to their own opinions, and with the election two months away nobody really has an idea who is going to win. But you don’t have the right to accost innocent victims such as myself. Not everybody wants to talk politics 24 hours a day, especially with those who are clearly on the extreme sides of the political spectrum.
More importantly, I don’t want to talk to anybody at 7 am. So if you see me at that time of day, and you don’t have female body parts, I beg you to just leave me alone. I’d much rather be awakened to the Replacements, Wilco, Radiohead, or any of the other 25,000 or so works of art on my Ipods than some idiotic clem who longs for the days of separate but unequal facilities.
Comments
No one should have to have a deep conversation before 10 AM.
Kurt
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep,
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here
I have my own little routine to end each and every day. I head over to a bar, and I spend 45 minutes or so gradually hosing the work day with a drink or more.
I’m always available to chat with beautiful women that have nice big tata's that stick out like a couple of rockets in a tight sweater. There is one lovely woman, Patsy the Radiohead fan, that I at times see during this time frame. It’s amazing how quickly I sit erect in my chair and energetically squirm when she shows up.
At the bar was this dirt bag - dog breath of a guy, with unwashed, shoulder-length hair and a shirt that said Alaska on it.
I paid him little notice, even when he asked, “So, did you know that this election is going to be the most lopsided in history?” Say what? “McCain is going to get more votes than anybody in history.”
'Votes to be committed to the nut ward?' I replied.
“You know that I’m right.” he retorted.
I then responded, 'McCain is behind by 5-7 points in almost every credible poll, he stepped on his own dick in the debates, he announced he's opposed to ethanol subsidies, he wants to send all our heavy bombers to the salvage yard, give away billions to bail out multi-billion dollar corporations and overpaid corporate executives, increase the national debt by trillions, offend nearly every world leader and become the first maverick lame duck in American history to have his campaign run by the big lobby friends that advised him to deregulate the finance industries. And his running mate's husband is about to be questioned by investigators regarding troopergate, respond to reporters about her affair with her husband's former business partner which is in every entertainment magazine, her son was a drug addict involved in multiple thefts before the military took him away, and her pot smoking daughter was the school tramp that was only taught not to have sex, and skip sex ed class. Shall I continue?
And after walking away from the dirt bag I spotted Patsy strutting across the bar room floor look'n like a burlap bag full of bobcats.