Thursday, September 16, 2004

COURTESY CONFIDENTIAL, Chapter IV


Well, Kiddo, I see you're back. An appetite for hack and a glutton for witty innuendo. That makes me all gooey. Alright then, let's get on with it.

I was standing at the counter at Starbucks, getting ready to order a badly needed cup of Joe, having just left the sissy with the bedroom eyes out on Little Santa Monica Boulevard after feeding his meter. If you've been following along, you know that's not a euphemism. I was trying to figure out my next move with the guy, when yet again, my day worked out so I didn't have to. I heard his voice behind me.

"Hello again."

"Hello yourself," I said, half turning to half acknowledge him. He was standing behind me in the order line, presumably to buy some frilly California coffee drink. I prefer the stuff straight. No frills. Maybe a little cream now and then.

"You work around here?"

"Sometimes."

"What do you do?"

"This and that," I said.

"You trying to tell me you're a temp?"

"I'm not trying to tell you anything, actually. I never liked the third degree."

My coffee was ready, so that was my out and I needed to beat it, otherwise my little game was about to be a bust. I picked up my coffee and made to exit but realized I needed to make a quick trip to the ladies room to powder my nose. That's a euphemism. I got the key from the barista behind the counter. The key was attached with a rubber band to a full size soup ladle. I wondered briefly about the mind it took to come up with something like this. I guess the key disappeared a lot and you're not likely to pass over a soup ladle. Doesn't exactly fit in a coffee joint that doesn't serve soup. I started to open the door, but the door was bumping against something in the way. It seemed to give a little, so I pushed harder. I finally got the door open enough to see the body on the floor.

Now I've seen plenty of bodies in my day, but you never get used to running into them in places where they just shouldn't show up. Namely the safe, normal little places you conduct your daily routine. Judging from the shade of gray-green on the face of the stiff, I was pretty sure they were dead, but kneeled down and took a pulse just to be sure. I stood up and started to back out of the john just as another patron came up to get in line for the bathroom and saw the body on the floor. As the patron began to scream that high pitched scream that eats through your eardrums like hydrochloric acid, I noticed the tile on the floor was made up of hundreds of identical tiles with steaming coffee cups painted on the surface. A bit busy for my taste. I turned around to face the screaming patron. It wasn't a patron, but the barista from behind the counter. Mr. Sissy-Bedroom-Eyes was no where in sight.

"Go call 9-11," I ordered.

"Wh-wh-wh-wha-what." stammered the hysterical employee.

I slapped the little squirt and repeated the order.

"Go call 9-11 and get an ambulance here right away." I didn't let on I knew the stiff was dead, but was pretty sure it was a no brainer, even to the Starbucks kid working for $7.00 an hour plus really good benefits.

I turned to look around the shop, taking in everyone there. I was pretty sure they had all arrived after the poor stiff in the bathroom. I was curious as to what happened to the sissy. This could really screw up my on-going experiment.

I just might have to put it on ice.

to be continued...

2 Comments:

Blogger Laura said...

OOh, you got me feeling as jiggly as a sumo wrestler in a vat of jelly. You got my insides as twisted up as an old lady's intestines after she's eaten a half a pound of cheese. This story is as breathtaking as a too-tight girdle on Monica Lewinsky. Keep the story coming, Dollface.

16 September, 2004 12:51  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

great blog

18 September, 2004 09:42  

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