Now, as the state of things are, I’m not used to hearing pleasant things from strangers.  Strangers say things like:  “Nice bike, fag!” or “Would you like some lemonade with that french toast?”  (I’m still not quite sure what that means, but his tone hinted at degradation.)   So when I turn to see an older lady, who had apparently been on her way out with the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen slapped across her face, my expression goes from instant accusing anger, to confusion.

With my brain-gears turning at a pre-coffee pace, it takes me a second to realize that I am being thanked for holding the door for her. At this point I tried to take credit by moving my face muscles into a courteous smile, but before I can, the lady’s gaze drifts from my Norville Barnes (Points for recognizing this pop-culture reference) expression to the pretty girl walking in behind me.  Her cheery manner vanishes straight away.  I awkwardly say “you’re welcome” anyway, but she is apparently beyond consoling.  The lady leaves, continuing on her day, realize all over again that “kids these days …” something something.  Meanwhile the girl, who had previously also been thankful for my door holding, now appears disappointed.  I turn to awkwardly wait in line behind the oldest man I’ve ever seen.

He has a patch of skin on the back of his head that looks like he’s recently had a lobotomy.  He’s ordering a croissant.  “Would you like this heated up?”  The man behind the counter asks, and Lobotomy says:  “Yes, of course” without another thought.  As Behind-the-Counter Man heads into the backroom to begin the heating process, Lobotomy’s wife (I assume) yells from her seat next to me.  She says:  “I sure hope he doesn’t put that in the microwave.”

Lobotomy:  What?!

Assumed Lobotomy Wife:  “I sure hope he doesn’t put that in the microwave!”

Lobotomy:  What!?

Now realize, dear reader, that this is happening while Behind-the-Counter Man is still within earshot; then again, so is everyone in the shop.  I hear the faintest sigh escape him, as he makes his way to the microwave (because, how else do you heat a croissant?).  I consider going behind the counter to grab a cup, so I can start infusing myself with caffeine, but decide against it.  Behind-the-Counter returns with a croissant that looks delicious, and Lobotomy begrudgingly pays before hobbling toward his Assumed Wife.

I buy my coffee, leaving my .50 cents change as a tip for Behind-the-Counter Man, wishing I could help more.  As I’m filling up with the coffee that says “Peruvian” because I think it sounds fancy, Assumed Lobotomy Wife is shouting again.

“Taste this!”  Lobotomy, does and seems to enjoy it.  “It’s terrible!”  She corrects him.  “He heated it in the microwave.”  A vein in Behind-the-Counter Man’s head twitches.  Work is actually looking pretty good at this point, so I begin my hasty escape.  On my way out, Assumed Lobotomy Wife makes eye-contact with me and says: (and I promise this is 100% true)  “This is a nightmare!”

A nightmare?  A croissant nightmare? And she looks at me when she says it like she’s looking for some validation, but I can’t back that up, so I only shrug my shoulders and give her a look that’s supposed to mean “you’re so crazy it’s kind of scaring me.”  Coffee shops are very different in the morning.

What I don’t understand is, why can’t I be thanked for holding the door by both people, regardless of who it was intended for?  I think anyone funneling through that entry way while I’m taking time out of my day to hold it open, should at least give me a polite nod.  Time is money, just not very much in my case.

Kids these days … something something.

“Scott Kalitta Killed in Funny-Car Crash”

I had to do a double-take.

In other news, James E. Hansen (of NASA fame), warned the House of Representatives:

“Practically, I don’t see how we can stop putting the oil in the atmosphere, because that’s owned by Russia and Saudi Arabia,”

Wait, Russia and Saudi Arabia own the atmosphere now? Where have I been?

An article in the Niagara Falls Review is trying to raise further concern by saying: “…students who drink alcohol mixed with energy drinks are at a higher risk for injury and other alcohol-related consequences, compared to students who drink alcohol alone…”

Dr. Mary “Iron-Fist” Claire O’Brien then hammers the point home with this terrifying twosome of redundancy:
“They can drink longer without feeling drunk and drink more without feeling drunk.” So the article is basically saying: “Look, we all know that students drink alcohol. There’s no stopping that. However, some of them are mixing their booze with energy drinks like Monster, or Cocaine thus allowing them to drink more in a shorter period of time, achieving a level of super drunkenness that had previously not been seen outside of the rodeo. And that’s not good for anyone. Except liquor stores and 7/11.”

So, the new plan, instead of enforcing laws on something they’ve already put an age restriction on, is to find something that people use in conjunction with said item, and ban it too, in hope that everything will just work itself out. What’s next on the chopping block? Cigarettes? Oh wait!

I’m trying this thing where I don’t revise my writing. I just write and write and write. I used to go back and re-write my first chapter several times, and never actually make any progress; but I’ll have you know that first chapter always had the savage-good. I think that was my old writing process: revise and re-write for hours until I lost interest in writing anything new. Someday, perhaps I’ll find a balance of revisions and staring blankly at a word document. That can’t be very good for my eyes in the dark anyway.

Well, now that I’ve revised this blog about five times, it’s time to pass out. Good night, internet.