Saturday morning i made my way to the coffee shop down the road to work on a few things for my
psychology class. Sitting down in my chair, at a very small table that was a bit wobbly, i pulled out my computer and notebook, textbook and pen. The coffee roaster stood behind me, not roasting coffee but taking up a bit of noticeable space. A small area for children was in the corner stocked with the usual germ covered wooden toys and picture books. I have a hard time settling unless i am familiar with my surroundings.
A couple years ago i was quite settled in this particular coffee shop, reading my notes at a table next to the window and in a glance a guy had his pants pulled down, full frontal. Not to take a piss or anything but just wanted the world to see what his penis looked like. I don’t understand why men want everyone to know what they’ve got down there. They’re always scratching it, pulling at it or in this case, showing it off to a room full of caffeine addicts (it was night time after all). I only got a brief show before the guy took off in to the night. I just don’t get it, i know men have penises but i don’t particularly want to see them. I sat there, a bit stunned about what just went down. I wondered if anybody else had seen this. Clearly not, nobody’s face resembled that which had just seen a strange man’s appendage. I thought it best to tell the tattooed latte pourers what just went on and they seemed a bit shocked and concerned but frankly a little confused. I didn’t really expect much from them but leaving the shop that night i was a bit on edge. What if that guy had a weird obsession with me? What if he wants to keep me from telling the authorities what he did so he just decides to murder me?! What if he wants to rape me with that ugly penis of his? Really i could go on and on, thankfully i made it to my car with no flasher in sight.
With this memory aside, I figured the morning would be a safer bet. I’m getting all my stuff out, checking my email and reading the paper when no sooner do the neighborhood seniors sit down, right next to me. One woman comes rushing in and the first words i hear out of her mouth are “I spent the whole night in the ER.” Great, here comes a story, and a long one at that.
“Yesterday while we were out, Murphy somehow got in to a whole can of cocoa powder. It looked like he had ingested quite a bit so i felt his heart and it seemed to be racing!”
“Oh my!” said the other gray haired woman.
“Yes, so you know, i thought it best to take him in. They made him throw up and then they gave him some charcoal so that the rest of the cocoa could be absorbed. He seems to be doing alright but we will be at home all weekend watching him.” She said with a sort of exasperated sigh.
“Well of course, that sounds frightful!”
Clearly focusing on my work was going to be an issue, i have enough problems i don’t need a story about a chocolate eating barfing dog to distract me anymore and i definitely don’t need to hear it told to each person who proceeded to join their coffee club. And then, lo and behold, in comes the dog. Murphy the beagle wandered around the table eating crumbs and hacking up his lungs periodically while i sat and read about conception. At least it was an intriguing chapter.
