|caffeine at the molecular level|
There’s a weird buzz I get from writing in public and I think it’s the background noise of people when the people aren’t being obnoxious in public. I have come to the conclusion there are some people who just don’t realize, or just don’t care, that their sense of personal space is a lot bigger than it ought to be. There is X amount of space. There are Y amount of people. Divide space by people and that space is yours. Everything else you take is a species of stealing so there ought to be some sort of punishment.
When I arrive there is a very nice parking spot but there is a van blocking it while people unload from the van. There is a seven month pregnant guy trying to dial his cell by talking to Siri and even she won’t speak to him. He’s the driver. Everyone is out of the van and he’s still barking commands at his cell phone and blocking the parking spot. Someone comes out and gets into the car that is also blocked by the van. They sit and wait. I sit and wait. Finally, the woman gets out of the car and gets up in Preggers face about moving his van and his ass out of the way. She’s a young woman, maybe twenty or so, she has short red hair and she’s clearly pissed. He’s dismissive of her efforts which causes her to snarl at him. He looks around and sees me, sees her car, and it suddenly dawns on him that the parking lot doesn’t belong to him. I say give him twenty days in a three by three cell with two other people just like him.
I get coffee, coffee, oh coffee, and wonder if I should write about the man this close to his due date. Squeak! Or maybe I should write about…SQUEAK! (Channeling Ren and Stimpy, “Squeak! Squeak I tell you!”) Okay, there is a giant dude dressed in long pants that are too short or shorts that are too long. He is wearing massive rubber sandals that squeak in fashion pain whenever she shifts his weight. He is wearing white, very white, exploding sun white, socks. Squeak! And he’s loud. He has a friend with him and he’s telling his friend about “That ho..” and he’s trying to integrate the word into his vocabulary and he’s trying to make sure he uses it as much as possible, like some sort of personalized colloquialism. Twenty days or to the day of delivery with the parking lot louse in a cell that turns on icy water whenever he speaks above a whisper.
A bevy of young women arrive and they all head to the bathroom and a debate breaks out while one of them is holding the bathroom door open. There isn’t much else to be said about this, really, except this goes on until another woman needs to use the bathroom and then the young woman closes it as she steps inside. A line forms. Here you are in a place that sells nothing but coffee and you’re going to claim the only bathroom as your own and hold a conference in there? Give these three chickadees twenty days in an even smaller cell that has a squat toilet in it and no lights and a large spider that squeaks when it walks.
I’m at a loss as to why people have children. Did they not meet children before? Did they never observe children in public? Did they not notice that only the law forbidding the physical harm to children by irritated strangers prevents the physical harm of children by strangers? Has no child ever screamed in the same room with these people before they became parents? How could any woman ever hear the sound of a child’s public wailing ever listen to that and say, “Hell yeah, I want a ten pound object to come out the lemon sized opening in my vagina and then watch it grow up to make such sounds in public hell yeah I want to be a mom!” Moreover, how on earth does someone with a kid want another? Well damn, this is a living hell of vomit and feces and public screaming why not have another? I’ve opposed to the punishment of parents because they’ve suffered enough and they do not, clearly they do not, benefit from aversion training.
I suspect most of them have formed a kind of selective hearing that mutes out toddler screams.
Rarely, very rarely, am I overtly rude to other people. Most are insane, far too many are armed beyond their ability to comprehend the damage posed by handguns, few are trained to use weapons, and fewer still are good shots. There are two types of behavior that will set me on the track of verbal dismemberment of another human being in public. The first is obstructive panhandling. Don’t invade my space and time in order to tell me that your family is stranded here and all you need is five bucks for some gas when you smell like you’ve used Old Milwaukee’s Best for aftershave and you haven’t shaved this year.
As an aside at this point a woman sits down at the table next to mine and she’s wearing enough perfume to make me quit this and leave very soon. She is also wearing a black dress with tiny white spots that is oddly mesmerizing. It’s like looking a monochrome chameleon who emits an odor akin to flowers being shoved into a blender full of rubbing alcohol and cheap vodka.
Anyway, the second thing that triggers me is someone sitting down across from me without the slightest invitation and asking me if I adhere to their religion. “I’m a Satanist.” I say without looking up at the guy and his jaw drops. “Get away from me, please.” And he’s stunned. “No, I won’t go out with you I’m not gay.” I say loudly and he’s moving away from me like I just spit a frog out at him.
We done here? I think we are. I’m getting slightly sick from the caffeine and perfume buzz.