Another cute girl. She’s going to get her drink and then walk out the door. This Starbucks sucks.

No it’s good. You get a lot of work done because there aren’t a lot of distractions.

But look at her body, her long hair.

It’s hard to tell. Up close she could be a mess.

Wait, she’s staying. She grabbed the paper. Interesting, she’s sitting right next to me. This never happens.

Just stick to your work. There’s time for work and there’s time for play.

No this is an opportunity. She’s reading the sports section. Weird, why is she reading the sports section?

To see how many touchdowns her favorite football player scored. She obviously likes athletics… look at her body. She’s not interested in “writers.”

Get fucked. Okay I have to say something. What to say, what to say. Like it really matters anyway.

She’s not even looking up or making sighing noises. She doesn’t want to be bothered. She’s probably waiting for someone.

You shutup. She’s reading the classified section now. She’s bored. But yeah she’s probably waiting for someone.

You don’t even know how cute she is. You only saw her profile. She could be ugly.

So what? If I say something I don’t have to marry her. If she’s ugly then I’ll let the conversation die out. Okay say something now, she’s looking at the window.

“If you’re bored with the newspaper I have a book you can borrow. It’s very long though you may not get it done within the next fifteen minutes.”

Good job stud, she laughed. You got the magic.

Did you see her face? She’s 16!

She does look a little young. But she’s developed. You like that cute laugh though…

Whoop-dee-doo. Now what are you gonna do?

Shit I’m not sure. She didn’t ask me the name of the book. She could have at least asked. I would have asked. She’s giving me no encouragement.

Correct, because she doesn’t like you. Go back to work.

It’s done, she’s back in the newspaper, the classifieds. I won’t continue this.

You should have come up with something better. Wait, who is this slapdick?

It’s her friend. They didn’t greet with a hug or kiss.

Whatever. They’re talking about going to college. Congratulations you get snubbed by a high school girl. How do you feel?

The same. Look, if it wasn’t for me you’d never get laid. I’m sure she was just unnerved by our rugged appearance. She’s not used to talking to a real man.

Yeah, that’s it.

Alright let’s get back to work.

Giddy. Hey on the way home can we get a corn muffin from Giant? They’re so delicious.

Done.

In my coffee shop I sit next to a display case that sells a bunch of crap. Women get drawn into this case like a tractor beam and browse through it before ordering their drink. I’ve never seen a woman browse the case after getting her drink because then she would have to go to the cash register twice if she likes something. When walking in girls only see my back, but when walking out they see my Middle Eastern face. What does that mean?

Well when a girl wants me to talk to her, she checks out the case on the way out. She just stands there looking at the merchandise without really looking. If she’s cute I have an opener for this very situation: “You know some of those cups are of excellent quality.”

“Oh yeah?”

“No I’m kidding—they put me here and give me free drinks just to say that. ”

It’s very rare that a sober girl will give an obvious green light during the daytime (unless she is older and horny). Sometimes they don’t even make eye contact with you. What a normal girl does instead is give you a very small opportunity to say something. When you are moving away from bars and clubs you need to pick up on cues like proximity or else you will go on thinking no girl wants to talk to you and return to poisoning your liver just to meet girls.

If I have a feeling a girl wants to talk to me, I will be right most of the time even though I’m not sure why. I think it’s because my subconscious can pick up on things that I can’t. Thank you evolution!

I see him at least six days a week. He walks into the door and makes a pit stop by my table for two minutes of small talk. He thinks I’m a hard worker because that’s what it appears I’m doing whenever he comes in, but most of the time I’m staring at the screen thinking about what mediocre baked good snack I’m going to buy when I get hungry.

He gets the exact same thing every time. A cup of coffee and lemon pound cake. Sometimes twice a day. One time I joked that I just got the last piece of lemon pound cake and added how delicious it was. You should have seen the look on his face—it’s like his heart stopped! I never joked about that again.

His legs are thin like my wrist, but he never uses a cane. He walks slowly, his arms halfway outstretched to maintain his balance. Those steep curbs get him. He needs to hold on to someone’s forearm to lift his foot six inches off the ground. I told him I see men much younger than him using canes, and he smiled and said he doesn’t need one. Once you hold a cane, you hold it until you die.

He still drives, he brags, and I’ve seen him drive. With my teeth clenched I could barely watch him reverse out of a parking space and almost jump over the curb. It’s a miracle his car doesn’t have a scratch. Next week he’s going to Florida for a little vacation on his own. He will travel alone because he is alone. I told him that’s the only way to travel.

I looked him in the eyes one day and said, “When I become old I hope I become you.” And I meant it. And he laughed. I hope to be his age and independent, to be spared the brutal effects of aging that appear more cruel than death itself. To have every system of your body shut down unmercifully, to decompose before your last breath. I fear aging more than death, for in death there is no mirror to see how wholly unhuman I have become. I can only wait and see what nature has in store for me, but I hope that when my time is up, and I have lived my life to the best of my being and I’m nothing but an mere container, that I look at death right in the eyes, and beg it to take me. And it does.

My friend was born in 1917. He still has a long way to go.

I go to the same Starbucks next to a retirement community so I recognize many of the old people that come in. Last month a man came in with a walker. He was leaning it on heavy and struggling to move just a half foot at the time. He almost fell down while bending over to sit.

A year ago I remember him coming in on his own, walking a little slow but still walking, and buying one of those pink frappuccino drinks. He dropped it and I watched him grab some napkins to help the barista clean up the spill. He was upbeat then and I used to exchange a few words with him, but now he just looks down on the ground as a younger woman helps him around and gets his drink. He sits closest to the door, silent, with no color on his skin, and within a few minute he falls asleep. He just started coming in a wheelchair, and judging by pain I see on his face he won’t be coming in much more.

You think it’s going to come gradually. That one day you have trouble getting out of bed and think to yourself that in a year or so you will need a cane. And then in a few years maybe a walker from time to time. But nature doesn’t work on your clock. It comes when it wants to come. I know this man did not expect to decline as rapidly as he has, one year independent and walking around, the next year barely able to bring the cup to his mouth.

There’s an elderly couple I see all the time. They have to be at least 80 years old, with a bond that gives me hope that maybe one day I’ll find someone to live out my last days with. They’d come in, get their coffee, and read the newspaper for an hour before setting out. The woman always had trouble walking so the man would hold her arm, like you would see a young couple do at night. Then they started coming in less and less. I used to see them every day, but it’s been a month since the last time. I think I know what happened.

I ordered a tall Americano and a water at the cash register. I waited a couple minutes by the bar but the water never came. No big deal, I’ll just ask again.

“Can I get a cup of water?”

The Asian lady barista said, “Sure I’ll get it for you this time but next time can you get back in line and ask for it?” Suck deez.

That barista is actually a manager, and I’ve seen her give attitude to others and reprimand her subordinates in front of customers. After I got my water I briefly considered using my Pulitzer-worthy writing skills to write a letter to corporate headquarters, but that would take too much effort.

A large black man next to the bar sees I’m waiting for my coffee drink. “My drink is taking forever too,” he said.

We small talk for 30 seconds. I looked at the Asian barista and said to him, “You see that woman? I really hate her.”

“That’s my wife.”

“Haha yeah right.”

“No really, she is my wife.”

Self-owned!!!

“Uhhhhhhhh yeah I’m saying that because I tried to get a water but she was not very nice.” It only took five seconds for me to regress into a beta male.

“Oh she can seem tough but this store is very busy.”

Phew, he’s cool with me hating his wife. I chat a little to alleviate my guilty feelings as my intoxicating charm wins him over: he ends up introducing me to her as his “homeboy.” He told her to look out for me in the future, so talking shit to a man’s wife may actually get me free coffee. I didn’t learn a lesson from this.

Photo Credit

Dunkin’ Donuts has free iced coffee all day today. While I find donuts to be repulsive, I will hit multiple Dunkin’ Donuts to get as much free coffee as my little heart desires. If I smell like donut grease in the process, so be it.

Full Disclosure: Dunkin’ Donuts has paid me $10,000 for this post.

Photo Credit

Over a year ago I sat down with an old friend at Ching Ching Cha Teahouse in Georgetown. This teahouse was recommended by someone who told me I had to try their artisan tea which blooms like a flower inside your cup. My flower was bright pink in color. It reminded me of those novelty pills that expand to form dinosaur shaped sponges when you drop them in water.

Our table did not have sugar so I asked the waitress if she can bring some. She said, “The owner thinks the teas taste best without sugar, so we do not have any.” Oh really?

Many of you are reading this through my RSS feed. It puts out full text of my posts so you can read at sites like Bloglines and Google Reader, or in an aggregator blog that mashes my feed with a bunch of others. If I operated this site like I did the owners of the teahouse, I would not serve an RSS feed—I would force you to come here and read my writing on my own terms.

This is like how, until recently, the music companies only wanted you to listen to music through shiny plastic discs. Their sales numbers show that control doesn’t work. Treating people like children and limiting their options without good reason doesn’t work. People want to choose how ideas or services are delivered to them, or they will vote with their legs and go elsewhere. Not only have I never been back to that teahouse, I have not recommended it to anyone.

I was out writing when a guy and girl sat near me. The girl was a Brazilian bombshell, maybe 18 years old with a curvy thin body and wavy hair. With her was a black guy, maybe as young as 16, who had a generic urban style topped off with a skullcap.

Her personality was fun—she was laughing at him and teasing and cursing. I like girls full of life with a little bit of drama and she had all the exaggerated looks and movements. I made the assumption that he was banging her after she started touching his hands and calling him baby.

Most average guys would immediately hate on the guy—or attribute his ability to get her on things other than his game—but other than those very obvious cases where the girl is after some guy for money or status, the answer is game when she’s hot and he’s not.

So I observed them. He had an iPod headphone in one ear and was listening to her with the other. He would space out and look elsewhere when she was talking to him where she would have to say “Over here!” She was initiating all the conversation and doing more than 70% of the talking. He was sitting back, relaxing, and letting her do all the work. She complained to him about many things, such as his “disgusting” smoking habit and his attention span problems. At the end they got in a mini fight and she made a dramatic body turn away from him. Then he just pushed her head with his hand and said, “Come on let’s go.” And off they went.

I’m sure guys treat this girl like a princess, but here you have an average guy who treats her average and she is all over him. Guys only hurt themselves when they hate on another guy because there is always one thing he does which you don’t do, or don’t do enough of. Observe and watch before you go negative. This particular gentleman had access to her, took advantage of an opportunity, and served the right game that works well. And that I respect.

I tried out Love Cafe after a reader recommended it. It’s about the size of your average coffee shop with a little nest towards the back that you can hide out in for 8 hours or so without having to buy too much.

The coffee was good—the baristas did a little foam swirl which was a nice touch, but the reason people come here is for the cake. A single slice costs up to $7. They can get 10 slices out of one cake so I can only imagine the profit margin out of something that probably costs two bucks to make. And people were lining up to pay for this luxury cake. They were in their twenties and dressed and acted like me and my friends.

I’m convinced you can take any product, triple the price, and sell it to yuppies who feel special for spending their money. They already do it with tap water, ice cream, coffee, and smoothies. I’m going to do it to steak and cheese sandwiches. I’m going to charge you $20 for one sandwich that has locally raised produce and meat. And you are going to fucking love it and come back for more because it makes you feel nouveau rich. I will have free wireless internet too.

At Love Cafe cake temperature is so important that they have laminated informational cards to tell you when you can eat your cake. If you don’t wait 15 minutes until your cake warms up, an employee takes your slice away and asks you to leave. My slice of New German Chocolate cake was very nice and I’ll be back because I fit the targeted audience for luxury cake and espresso beverages.

Consumer Reports has deemed McDonalds coffee better than Starbucks.

The magazine reportedly says McDonald’s Premium Roast Coffee has “no flaws,” labeling it “decent and moderately strong.” The java from Starbucks, meanwhile, was determined to be “strong, but burnt and bitter enough to make your eyes water instead of open.”

Starbucks is good for espresso and pretending you have a life outside the house. 7-11 has the best coffee.