I need to write today. So I went to this little coffee shop near where I live. Super cute. I believe it’s called Hipsters R Us or something. These places give me an anxiety attack. They were meant for people who are so cool they resist all societal confines of cool, thus creating their own definition of cool, resulting in a cool conformity, the likes of which they fought to resist in the first place. That’s a lot for a simple mind like myself to keep up with.
My problem with trying to be cool? I’m friendly. Cool and Friendly sometimes hang out. Then Friendly gets frustrated by always doing Cool’s algebra homework and builds resentment. This resentment explodes at just the wrong time that ends in Cool being cock-blocked by an overly Friendly outburst. So they take a break from each other.
You understand my anxiety? Well, it didn’t help that when I walked into this establishment of the caffeinated bean (decaf is for pussies), there was no seating to be had. Every single mismatched table and broken sofa had been taken. One loveseat had half of it taken by a dreadlocked man, the other half by his bare feet. Why on earth should his creativity be restricted by a jail cell of shoes?
In my defense, while I may feel like I don’t fit in completely, I am wearing skinny jeans. So there.
Right after I ordered my double latte, I spotted a guy packing up his mobile office he had set up. It wasn’t the best real estate in the joint – a couch that looked like it had been in The Biggest Loser casting office – if The Biggest Loser was casting in the 70’s – but it was still a spot!
I didn’t want to risk any brisk walkers nabbing it while I waited patiently for him to throw an iPad he would swear he couldn’t afford into a bag he bought at a “swap meet” called Fred Segal. So I approached mid-exit.
“Mind if I steal your spot?” I said with a goofy smile. If you’ve ever met me, you know that goofy smile. If you really know me, you hate that goofy smile.
“Take it,” he grumbled back.
He was still in process, and I didn’t want to just jump over him. So…I spoke.
“Who knew this place was so busy, eh?” I don’t know why I became Canadian.
It doesn’t matter anyway. He looked up at me with that I’m-gonna-give-you-a-snarky-yet-sorta-funny-comment glare, but then he didn’t even speak! He was too cool to even give me the breath of words.
Could I have bothered him that much? I wasn’t trying to get into a whole conversation. I have stuff to do, too, pal!
All this is really stressing me out. Perhaps I should take my shoes off while I’m here.
love and dreadlocks,