Saturday, April 19th, 2008
I’m an addict — Coffee #1
I have to say — the smell makes me smile in the morning. When a smoke can disgust you when it’s too early, your coffee friend will always make you feel better (unless it’s the 13th cup, and you start to feel your heart pounding out of its cage).
So when in the morning I go to my usual coffee shop down the hill, and people welcome me with a smile, I can’t help but thinking “stop fucking smiling, you slag and give me my coffee, fuckhead”. And usually I show it too — if not say it very low… those who know me in the morning before a coffee fix will understand.
But those at Tully’s are persistent. They kept and kept on smiling, day after day, insult after insult, mental murder after dreams of slaughter. Even though their teeth were pulled off with my virtual baseball bat, they kept on welcoming me with their large (and mentally teeth missing) smiles. “Damn they’re good!” I had to say.
I was almost nice with them once, and answered to their stupid “how are you today sir?”. This same same guy, smiling at me every day, how many times did I actually pop his eyeballs with 2 chopsticks?
- well, I’m fine, thanks. what about you?
- oh pretty good. I can hear an accent, are you french?
damn you, shithead. how can you be so fast to tell? huh
- yeah, I’m afraid I am…
- oh right! zhe parle un peh le fwanssais. Comment allez vous aujoudui?
- ça va bien — one grande latte please
- alright… (tip tip tap bip) bon journée (he looks at my credit card) alexandre!
- ouais bon journée!
And that’s exactly when they became my favorite place to go in the morning. By taming me, I guess we could say. By finally saying my name, welcoming me in the morning, smiling, a whole new world that knows who I am. I almost enjoyed the little french the cashier person had, and he almost remembered my usual order of the morning. Finally a place I could enjoy, even before my caffeine fix? That little place of heaven giving you some energy for the day?
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
The guys at Tully’s are even more tricky than others. After a few weeks like this (Bonjour alexandre — bonjour, one grande latte please — bon jounée — bon jounée), they suddenly started calling me … Marc…
“One grande latte for Marc! One!
- oh is that mine? hum, ok thanks!
- bye, Marc!
Bye… but why the fuck?
And then it was too late obviously. The first day of me being Marc had been passed, and I couldn’t go back in time. 2nd day, 3rd, one week. How could I tell them my name wasn’t Marc after a full week?
And now here I am. To not lose this little place, I don’t say anything. I am Marc, and proud of it. And I preferably pay with change, afraid he would see my name on the credit card.
on Sunday, April 20th, 2008 at 11:33 am:
Bonne humiliation… je pense qu’il a du te prendre pour marc landers avec tes predators et les manches de tes t-shirts relevés sur les épaules…