All I Want Is Everything Done My Way
I’M NOT PICKY. REALLY, I’M NOT. I just like things done the way I want. Is that too much to ask? I think not. When things are not going the way I like, I tend to get cranky. This morning is a case in point.
The time: early this morning – about 6:45 AM. It is still dark outside. It is 30 degrees colder than it was yesterday at this time and I haven’t had my coffee yet.
When I stepped out into the cold the motion detector light mounted by the door does not go on so I have to inch my way to the car. It rained last night and there are patches of ice everywhere. Things are not going well and I am already starting to growl softly.
I made it to the car, turned the key to start it up and I am immediately blasted by 150 decibels of the Zak Brown Band. I must have not turned it off last night.
After putting my heart back in my chest I enjoyed the peaceful drive, all two blocks of it, to St. Arbucks – my oasis, my refuge, my aerie to let me observe the world below.
As I pulled into my usual Gimp Spot parking place I could see that the place was almost empty, just the way I like it early in the day. However – I noticed that there was someone just inside the door. As I entered, he looked at me and scurried up to the counter ahead of me. I was now at the end of a two person long line. All I wanted was some coffee.
I stand there and the guy ahead of me pulls out a list. He is confused.
“Can I charge this or do I have to pay in cash?”
“What size cups of coffee can I get?”
“Can I get something to eat here too?”
I’ve gotten mortgages quicker than this guy is taking to place his order.
Finally he finishes and I’m screaming to myself, “Go! Just go, already!” But no – he stops and says to me, “How’s your day going?” Not wanting to commit a felony before I get my coffee I simply growled and muttered, “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to get my coffee yet.”
His plastic and medication induced smile disappeared and he let me get on with my life.
After an exhaustive Work-Time and Efficiency study I have determined that there are only three seats in St. Arbucks that I find suitable for me to sit, write, and finalize my plans for World Domination while drinking my coffee.
I quickly scanned the room. Two of my preferred spots were already taken. That was OK; my optimal spot was off in the far corner.
I got my iced coffee, a straw and some napkins and crossed the River Jordan to my Land of Half N’ Half and Honey, but what…Mr. Slowest Human Being since Jeff Bridges in “Starman” (1984), the guy who made me wait for my coffee while he learned how to talk, has parked himself in MY CHAIR at MY TABLE eating oatmeal.
He has made my list of people who will not survive the revolution.
I was forced to sit at one of the tables near the door, awash in an icy blast of air every time someone came into the store. And that’s where I am, sitting here, writing this with a pen that could easily serve as a lethal weapon.
The coffee helps. The caffeine wakes me up enough to allow rational thought to take place, to let me remember how difficult it is to prove “justifiable homicide,” and that, while there may be a Starbucks inside The Pentagon, there isn’t one inside the Wabash Valley Correctional Facility.
I’ll let the intruder live and I’m going to go get a refill.