Hot Drinks

Both men sat at essentially the same time at the all too tiny round faux wood table.  The slightly older of the two gave the slightly younger the raised eyebrow and pursed askew mouth look of mutual annoyance after surveying the usual suspects around the coffee shop.
Before the usual tirade began about “hens and chickens” ordering girl drinks and filling the aisle with “SUV sized strollers”, the youngest spoke.
“You ever notice how in movies and television, American, Canadian, western television, when someone gets a coffee, it’s almost always black.  Like, nobody adds milk.  Do you even KNOW anyone that drinks black coffee?”
“Um, yeah, you are right come to think of it. Huh…” He drew a confused look from the vault and stared off into space. 
After a moment, just as the younger was about to speak, this time about one of the flirty young moms in a “momma bear” t-shirt who had been looking his way for quite some time now, the older man cut in.  “At your work, do you know anyone that doesn’t drink coffee or tea?”
“Yeah, of course.  Mainly kids out of school.  They eventually bow down to peer pressure and the need for legal stimulants and we get them hooked up pretty fast.”
“I have three, count ‘em, three, coworkers who don’t drink, get this, hot drinks.”
“Hot drinks?”
“Hot drinks.”
“Like no coffee, no tea…”
“No hot chocolate…”
“Um, why?”

The older of the two still youngish men pointed discretely toward the rather perfect jean clad ass of the Momma Bear as she sashayed over to the island to add milk to her tea. “She uses milk.  She’s normal.”
“She’d been giving me the eye since I walked in.”
“No ring.  Single or unmarried which is pretty much single.”
“Hey even I, a man of the world, think that’s pretty misogynistic.”
“Experience my lad.  First, she is always here, no male compadre.  She is always in slinky tight t shirts even on cold days.  She has a two year old.  I’m guessing single mom, and you know what that means?”
“I know, you said it before about Marlene. She puts out as evidenced by the kid and she’s desperate for a sugar daddy.”
“Exactly.  Go forth and…”
“Maybe she’s a nanny.”
“True, but then that is evidence she is hormonal, all estrogeney.  No kids of her own, looking for someone to baby..”
“Possibly.  Anyway, why no hot drinks.”
“They don’t like them.”
“That’s insane. What about soup?”
“I asked this.  Soup is liked across the board by my three insane coworkers, but it’s not a drink.”
“It’s not. I guess.”
“It’s a thick drink you drink with a fucking spoon if you ask me.”
“Did you tell them this?”
“Not yet. I will know though.” He whipped out his Blackberry and began to craft a smarmy email.
“I’d also ask them if tea, coffee, hot cocoa etcetera is okay to drink if you use a spoon.  If they say yes, they are evidence of the coming ragnarok.”
The older man snickered, backspaced, added some words and clicked send. He looked up as he put the Blackberry in his pocket. “It’s because they don’t want to use a product on screen that hasn’t paid up. They charge like fifty K for a can of coke to be simply facing the screen, label forward, on a major television show.  Milk or cream in coffee, that’s money from local corporations not spent.  Coffee, not even grown here.  No chance to get the moolah.”
“Huh.. well.  You are a genius aren’t you.”
“Pretty much.”
The men sipped their coffee in brief mutual silence as the din rose, babies cried and Momma Bear slowly wrote her phone number on the back of her coffee club points card.

Posted from WordPress for Android by that guy that runs the place


Sitting in a restaurant. Patiently awaiting food. Tedious loud attention-whore mom beside me is making a point of pronouncing every single name of every single country, person and object in her boring “I’m so worldly” conversation with captive audience the way the people of the country of origin do.  If ever I wanted to risk jail to punch a stranger. It was now.

Posted from WordPress for Android by that guy that runs the place