Hopefully, Beauty has no sense of smell
Odd how some things hit you out of the blue and you suddenly remember something you had forgotten.
Here is the chain of events.
I bicycle commute, mainly because I am lazy.
Because if I don’t have a 45 minute bike ride in the morning and again in the afternoon, I would find myself compelled to “Go to the gym” and I am too lazy to go to the gym.
So I ride a 100 miles a week in order to properly be a lazy shit.
The logic is twisted but even Manson would agree with it, so I am good with it.
So, it follows that after work, I would ride to Starbucks to write.
I like my bike, so I lock it up like armed gangs are lurking to swoop in should I forget.
Two young ladies are walking away from Starbucks, drinking their chilled overpriced creations.
And talking shit.
“Sorry to tell her, she is not that hot.”
“Yeah” (Evidently, the second girl is the straight man, the first girl is the color commentator.
“I mean, it looks so phony. An Asian girl with blond hair. Seriously?”
“I didn’t want to sit there anymore.”
And off they went.
She’s still there?
I am always looking for the oddities in life, especially if they are getting their caffeine on at Starbucks.
Nothing more fun than reporting a freak show in the Temple of Legal Speed.
I walked into Starbucks with a bounce in my step.
And there she was.
I have the age range of women I am attracted to. Older women, not girls, who have seen the world a bit.
But there is an age women hit that is just out of the teens and just shy of what you would call “Older” that is breathtaking in its beauty.
Stunning is a word you would use.
It is effortless in it simplicity and loveliness.
To correct the young lady outside, yes, she is that hot.
For that brief moment, even the most jaded perverted men among us can only stop and admire what nature decided would peak at this moment, this critical apogee in time.
Well done nature.
Even I hesitate to besmirch that memory with shitty words and childish smacking.
Trust me, even that lazy bastard Karma would get off of his ass and give me an Ike Turner style tune up for daring to open my cake hole.
On a side note, there is an old man in Starbucks who is not allowed to poo.
That sounds weird, but it appears to be true.
When I came in, he came in the opposite door.
While I was getting settled at a table, he made a beeline for the bathroom.
The somewhat tippy toe way he was walking gave you the impression that he was clenching his asscheeks together to avoid shitting himself.
And then he encountered the door lock.
It is a number pad, punch in the number, and the door will open.
Unless you don’t know the code.
But that is not stopping him from stabbing his finger at random numbers then pounding on the doorknob.
And then he goes to the cashier. I would have gone their immediately, but thats me.
And the cashier really can’t wait to give it to him.
She announces the number when he gets 10 feet away.
So he marches back, asscheeks clenched to the point that he is walking stiff legged.
And can’t remember the code.
So he heads back to the cashier.
He is angry, not at the cashier, but maybe at the metamucil he takes 3 times a day that makes double parking a deuce in the lower intestine an impossible act.
But the cashier will bare the brunt of this.
“What’s the damn number?” He snaps.
The cashier smiles and gives it to him.
The training program at Starbucks rivals the Stepford Wives for automatic responses.
The stiff legged walk is a tad more pronounced this time.
This is getting ugly here.
There is a real possibility that the old guy may end up twisting out a growler in public.
Just as his 3rd attempt at the door code fails and you can see visible trembling in his hips, the bathroom door opens and a homeless guy comes out.
And just like that, the day is saved.
Except that now the old timer is sitting in a poorly ventilated room taking a backed up retirement shit while being smothered in some world class BO.
I bet he is wishing he had shit himself out here.
At least it would smell better.
Oh well, you can’t have it all.