I located my original blog, proof that UNC is no longer deleting accounts of prior students. Looking back, it's good to see that I have always been so goddamn witty.
Right now I don't have anything interesting to write about my current life. Well, anything I want posted on the tubes. I've decided instead to write stories about things that have happened to me. I haven't written anything in a long time... and nonfiction seems to be as good a place to start as any.
To appropriately get your hopes up for magnificence, let me begin by saying this next tale is "The greatest story I have ever heard." Those words are from Evan, a friend and mentor. I will always recognize his voice on WXYC because he ends every sentence sort of like a question - it goes up.
I used to compete in barista competitions (which is a story for another occasion), and I had to buy a shit-ton of stuff to get my routine down. $130 for espresso cups from Vietri (which the judges didn't like). $60 whipped cream canister. $20 ice tongs. $25 drink shaker. On this particular trip I was on my way to the Vietri outlet in Hillsborough where they were having a sale. I wound up buying a wooden tray... $40. The way it's set up is there are tents in the parking lot at the warehouse, and you drive down the road to a grass lot to park. Honest to god there is a shuttle from the lot - about a two minute walk from the warehouse - where chubby wives of retirees cram their sweat-lubricated hams into this box waiting a solid 15 minutes before it's full... and drive down the road for thirty seconds. When I had parked, I briefly considered hopping in, you know, for the experience, but the smell of moth balls and face powder simmering in the summer heat precluded that joyride. As I made my way down the gravel road, I realized I had left my wallet in the car. I knew I would be reimbursed for what I purchased (actually I wasn't), but I wasn't sure my coworker would have the cash on hand. So... I made my way back to the lot as the shuttle scuttled down the road to deposit another load of well-fed sea cows at the very delta of faux-Italian excess.
Now I was in a bad mood. I don't remember why now... I'd worked that morning so I'd probably had some hoser in the store giving me a hard time. I passed a despondent police officer at the entrance to the lot and nodded once in his direction. We made eye contact, but he mostly stared through me, as though he was no longer capable of responding after so many inane conversations with the cellulite bags waiting for the shuttle. I wouldn't mention him except that one should note he was still quite near as the rest of the events unfolded.
My car was easy to find - a foreign economy vehicle among throngs of mid-size SUVs - so I almost missed them as I bee-lined for my wallet. "Sir? Excuse me, sir? SIR!" I turned around. Approaching me was a hydra. The legendary three-headed beast, each wearing a red hat that doesn't suit them. Cut off one head and it regrows, courtesy of cosmetic surgery funded by generous pensions. "Sir, did you come down 86 to get here?" I had. I nodded. Engaging in verbal communication with the beast only grants it power (that's totally in Revelations. Yeah I know there was no hydra in Revelations). I start thinking maybe they want directions on how to get back to the den. "Do you know how fast you were going?" Well, 86 is a 60 mph zone most of the way, so I imagine I was probably going 70. With no response, it continued. "Well you passed us going... I don't even know how fast in a double yellow and a school zone." This was turning into a bizarre Saturday morning, I tell you. Summer school on weekends is a total bitch for those Elementary school kids. I raised my eyebrow with measurable disdain. "And we just wanted you to know, we got your plate numbers, and we're performing a citizen's arrest."
Now in hindsight, there are all sorts of bitchin' things I could have said. I could have laughed in their faces, or maybe brought the cop over to join in the fun. Something totally quippy like "You think you can take me?" would have kicked some WASP ass, too. Instead, I simply started nodding. I closed my eyes and pursed my lips, as though we had reached a profound understanding of each other. Hambeast and barista, barista and hambeast... as one.
Without making further eye contact, I turned around. I went back to my car, got my wallet. As I neared the gravel road again, I saw they had crammed into the shuttle. It was just closing its doors.
So did I pass them on 86? Hell yes I did. My biggest concern was whether any of the other matrons I passed wanted to engage in some everyday assault that morning. Turns out there weren't. After all, those tents had some serious deals on discontinued china.
