Saturday seems-like-morning and I head out, though road construction debris--veritable bouquets and gushers of pylons in gorgeous pylon-orange, yellow tape, asphalt chunks--to the coffee store, the Evil Imperialist Coffee Purveyors, for my weekend drink which differs somewhat from my weekday drink in that the former is cold and sweetened, the latter hot and only coffee-flavored. Approaching EICP, an employee whose name I don't know but who makes very good (and efficient--she's fast) drinks says, in passing, "Hi. You won't get a good drink now because I'm off." Entering store the cofee-girl about whom I once wrote a two line poemlet is manning the evil coffee machine. Last week I showed her the new anatomically correct buffalo nickel. It's difficult coming up with new banter, but today, coffee lady's partner, the other coffee girl who must work fewer hours becasue I only see her about once a week, sidled up to the counter and said, "I need to ask you something." I'm prepared at this point to discourse on animal nudity on U.S. currency, but she asks not about buffalo ding-a-ling, but about my profession. "Are you a cop?" My answer was an immediate, blurted out sloppily, "God no." She says "I was sure you were a cop." Coffee lady (who somewhat alarmingly--I think--has the same or similar name as my ex-girlfriend whom I still miss but pretend that I don't) says "I told her you weren't a cop." Discourse on cops and their distinguishing characteristics ensued for a few minutes. I'm leaving out the part where I actually order the drink. I also left out this part: after the cop-talk I remarked "What do you people do here? I'm just a guy who comes in for coffee--do you actually talk about me?" to which Coffee Lady replied (with a smirk), "Oh, like you mind!" I think this qualifies as flirting with the coffee women, but I'm not sure. I'm a little retarded in social situations, though I'm getting better. I think. I'd like to make this a poetry-related post, but I'm having a hard time doing so. I wrote a pretty good New Sincerist poem yesterday though, and I'm going to post a poem by Jess Mynes here in a minute, though. Stay tuned.
Oh yeah--so the question to you, dear blog-reader, is this: Do I look like a cop?
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3 comments:
Were you eating a donut at the time, or not?
No doughnuts. A lot of cops frequent that coffee shop though. Maybe it was guilt by association.
Have YOU seen the buffalo nickel?
One might make the case that yes, you could be a cop. A cop striving for an innocuous, "Let's throw 'em off the scent" sort of charm. If I didn't know you, would I think "Narc"? I can't say. I do know you, and I think "Hey! There's Tony!"
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