Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Have A Coffee Day!

Sometimes, constant living in a city can weary your nerves. Particularly if you happen to live in a city with a knack for getting to know EVERYONE in it. So even if you 'accidentally' overlook tipping the waiter, be sure that the entire town shall next hear about your gospel stinginess, courtesy, of course, your chance acquaintance at an adjoining table.

Thus it is particularly difficult to sit through an entire hour in a coffee-house. From the moment you enter, you know you have trespassed into the lair of eternal damnation where, unbeknownst to you, seven pair of ogling, decaffeinated eyes shall scrutinize your every move for the next sixty minutes. Nevertheless, you go and sit down, hoping in earnest to parry off unguarded judgment.

The situation becomes most problematic if you have girls sitting along at your table. First, the catty gobbledygook, very often over-technical and difficult to fathom, and then the extempore judgment calls. So while you sit there like a curmudgeon, your friends should have decided that the girl sitting at the next table is a total bitch and the guy dating her, a total bloody jackass for having to do so.

Thankfully, since you are only sparingly roped in for intermittent conversation, you have enough time to eat your chocolate fantasy properly. You can of course, unwittingly even, try to make fatuous and open-ended discussion about the most appropriate, and meticulous, shoes suitable for hip-hop, but this is bound to lead nowhere. Instead, perhaps you can ruminate on a comparison between water and Gatorade, one that is entirely internalized, so you need not have any apprehensions of being cut off mid-sentence.

Then, there is the most laughable agony of having to watch a passel of dimwits trying to catch the attention of your good looking friends whilst they chattily sip coffee and discuss how 'obvious' the dimwits are being. Poor morons. Sometimes you want to empathize. But I think it is more amusing, and important, to watch their libidinous activity go to waste. That way at least, you get to learn the subtleties of the act.

To put a riotous end to things, one of the blokes might eventually shake your hand and invite you to an imaginary party, but it is better to smile back genially and not take their conjecture at word, and then perhaps later even delete his number. But always remember, you must never turn back to look, for you might then find him frolicking around tables, like an angry raccoon, unleashed on a coital mission.

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