Preface: This is the third installment in my Open Notes series, where I talk to people around me but on my blog because I lack the guts/interest/pickup lines necessary to actually converse with other people.
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| "Art of Unknown Origin Stolen for Blog"; Anonymous, Oil on Canvas, 1997 |
This evening, after a particularly erratic day of substitute teaching in Manhattan, I returned to lovely Brooklyn and strolled over to a distinctive coffee joint in the quaint yet eminently mockable neighborhood of Park Slope. People here are known for being liberal, wealthy(ish), and trendy, and most residents struggle to hide their often overwhelming whiteness. My neighborhood is no slouch, but this part of town is most certainly out of my price bracket. Thus, while it may be a perfectly pleasant place to reside, it's easier and more self-assuring to ruthlessly rend it asunder with smug keystrokes while chuckling about how intellectually superior and more worldly I am.
To my roommate: Spot me a few bucks? Cool.
To the chipper barista girl: You're adorable, but I really do think that your hat falls under the "trying too hard" category. It probably looked stylish on the wooden rack at the second-hand store next to the other second-hand store where that better second-hand store used to be, but you don't need a hat indoors. However, I have a long history of falling for waitresses and female bar staff, so I'm going to let it slide.
To Customer #7: Whoever told you that beard looked good was lying through their java-stained teeth. When you trim the edges every morning for that perfectly symmetrical look, do you use a ruler? A protractor, maybe? Also, this morning routine must give you ample time to consider your beard at length. Apparently, you still think it's worth it.
To the freeloading suit who walked in, sat down, went to work on his laptop, and didn't buy anything: Don't worry about it. Wi-fi should be free. Hey, I'm sure you voted for universal public health care, too.
To literally four other customers who have entered since I started: Please explain to me the appeal of offbeat hats and poor facial hair decisions. Please. I'm so lost.
To Customer #15: You are cute. Please look at me again now that I'm sitting up straight.
To Customer #15's boyfriend: I will fight you right in the face.
To Rota Fortunae: Why do girls go out with clowns like him? What is it? I see more girls hanging off the shoulder of slouchy, half-awake, vacant looking dudes who kind of just stand there consuming oxygen. What are you contributing to the relationship, guy? You look like the kind of person who hopes McDonald's makes home deliveries. It's very perplexing.
To Wikipedia: Whoa. "
Rota Fortunae"? Thanks, Wikipedia! I sound so cultured and smart.
To the insufferable mouthpiece behind me: Keep talking. I find it fascinating that you could "know" so much about so many things and yet state everything in the simplest terms possible. Call me crazy, but does it occur to you that most political issues and social science-related events are just a little bit more on the
complex side? Listening to you explain it all--with scoffs to spare--is nauseating. The groans! The sighs! If eye rolling made a sound, I'm pretty sure that I just heard it. Were you planning on giving a chance to either of the ladies accompanying you? They may want to speak at some point. I
know that you think that you're intelligent and sophisticated and miles ahead of the other lemmings you are forced to associate with, but there's a reason that some individuals become famous talk show hosts or essay writers while others sit in coffee shops pontificating. You suck.
To the girl blogging two tables away: I have no idea what you're writing about, but I will preemptively propose a truce.
To whoever wrote this "How to Piss Off a Park Slope Resident" viral blog post: Good show!
To the bro who almost walked in with his acoustic guitar: No! Get out!! NO ONE LIKES YOU!! WHATEVER ARTIST YOU ASPIRE TO BE LIKE SUCKS, TOO! Sorry about the caps. Typed too hard again.
To management: Please play something other than Adele. It's been like an hour and forty five minutes. C'mon.
To the Mac user next to me: You have literally nine applications running and you're flipping through them seamlessly; meanwhile, I attempted to open iTunes and my laptop reacted like I jammed a butter knife into the USB port. This is stupid. PCs are stupid. Any computer I ever buy is stupid.
To my snarkier readers: Not stupid by association. Just stupid.
To the lower-middle-class, blue-collar local making a modest wage who came in and ordered a... nah, just kidding. He's not allowed to live here.
To the cafe business at large: Why is decaf iced coffee impossible to find? No one has it and I don't understand that. If I wanted a decaf hot coffee, I would have made it at home. Decaf iced coffee isn't even hard to stock--just double brew a pot and refrigerate it. It stays good for days! There's no excuse, service industry. Step it up.
PAUL McCARTNEY
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