Thursday, August 30, 2007

War of the Worlds

I'm going to do a Quintin Terrintino maneuver here. I'm going to tell you the end first. And that is "When it comes right down to it, I'm neither pretty enough, nor weird enough to be here." An interesting point there. Why would I say such a thing that would sound so suppressive to my fragile male ego? Let's run it back.

A few days ago I was suffering from a bit of a lagging sensation as I left to go to work. So, like many people tend to do in times like these, I made a stop at a Starbucks on my way to work. Oddly enough, and a somewhat unrelated point, but I remember a time when stopping at a Starbucks on one's way to work took some additional planning. Not anymore. If you can't stop conveniently at a Starbucks for a $6 cup of coffee, you need a new job apparently.

But as I walk in there, I'm confronted by several things. It was a myriad of sites, sounds, and smells the likes of which you don't tend to run across on a regular basis. As I enter, I'm about 3 deep in a line, and I'm looking at the people working the counter, all of whom look like extras that walked right off the set of a Fallout Boy or Avril Lavigne video. To sum up, somewhat androgynous in gender by both appearance such as eyeliner and shaggy hair spiked and manipulated in complex ways. As well as in name, such as Morgan, Tyler, or Kris. Clearly not the time to say "How you guys doing this morning?" But make no mistake, all of them were nice and polite as the day is long.

What next caught my attention is the generic form of a person that tends to bare the brunt of a good deal of least my jokes. I hear the door open and close behind me, and without turning around, it's clear that a woman (or women) have just come in. How? Because through the thick and robust aroma of worldly coffee, I can smell them. And in this case, smell them means I can smell the make-up they are wearing due to the amount they have on. Their perfume is noticeable as well, but when the smell of foundation is prevalent over your perfume, somethings not all together right about that. And the real kicker is, these woman are by no means right behind me. Oh no, they are a good 4 people back, putting them roughly 10-12 feet away.

But that's not all...

What really cracks me up, is the rest of the clothing. The fact of the matter is it's the same on each of them. Invariably it consists of these things; running pants, break aways, or sweats- anything you would lounge around and be comfortable in that these people would ordinarily not be caught dead in even within the confines of their own home. On occasion, pajama pants borrowed from their 13 year-old daughter. Some manner of top of the line t-shirt that looks like you would workout in it, if you would ever condescend to sweat. Of course you don't sweat in this shirt, it's made by DKNY and sweat would cause it to spontaneously combust. Flip flops. Always flip flops. The previously mentioned 30 plus minutes of make-up which, if you're keeping track, is only there to compliment a pressed and hung version of what she wore to bed the previous night. And the hair all did up. Sometimes you get really luck and see them with the hair all did up and still under a hat. That's the best combination.

So as I move through the line, inching ever closer to the register, and what I've come to understand is that if the people in line before me haven't decided what they want in the half hour it took to get to the register, I should be allowed to kill them. Be that as it may, I order my coffee from Fallout Boy while fighting the overwhelming combination of smells emanating from the Desperate Housewives behind me.

Here's the interesting part; there is no where else in the WORLD that these two groups of people could come together to coordinate on a task. To pass each other in the world, someone would sneer "What in the world are they wearing" while the others would complain about their "despicable attempts at social conformity. To see these two groups interact earnestly anywhere else would most certainly cause the space-time continuum to collapse upon itself, the world would stop spinning and fall from it's axis, cats and dogs would marry and live together, and who knows what else?

Standing in line marveling at my revelation, dressed in my polo shirt and khaki pants, all I could possibly conclude is that I am neither pretty enough, nor weird enough to be here. Guess I'm sticking to UDF coffee from now on.


Anonymous Mom said...

Oh my gosh, this was great. As usual, it was clever and funny. You never fail to make me think and laugh. Good stuff...

7:26 PM  

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