She’s definitely going to think it was me.
Because it’s not like I could have said, “I swear it was like this when I got here.”
I think that would have made things worse, so, I had no choice but to let her walk right into a trap.
The truth is, however, it was the person before me who completely cleaned out their colon in the Starbucks bathroom. I was just there for a quick pee.
But when I opened the door, and saw the woman standing there waiting to use the bathroom, I just put my head down and got the hell out of Dodge.
– end scene –
(I know, not much of a blog post. Here’s something even less substantial: earlier today, I was telling a friend about my old bartending days. When a customer had to wait three seconds more than they wanted to for their hamburger, they’d invariably say, “Did the chef have to go kill the cow first.”
Being the total, sarcastic prick I’m known to be in the face of childlike impatience, I, like clockwork, would automatically respond with, “Did you just make up that line? It’s so clever. I’ve never heard it before.”
Dear reader, why am I wasting your time with this?
I have no idea really. Sorry.
If you haven’t already stopped reading, which I wouldn’t have blamed you for, please allow me, finally, to make a point.
I’m a vegetarian.
Because I’m one of those weirdos you’ve heard about who cares deeply for the animals I’d be ingesting.
And I’ve actually been mocked for this on more than one occasion.
Don’t be so shocked. I’m sure many others feel the same. They just, rightfully so, don’t have the gall to say it to my face.
There’s a part of me that wants to grab them by the neck, rip them down to the ground and step on their heads. “You like the way this feels mother fucker? Want to spend the rest of your life like this before you’re killed in the most horrific way?”
But of course, I’d never.
I just do what I can by simply abstaining.
It’s a chicken Gabe. Whats the big deal? And you’re just one person. You’re not going to make a difference.
And that thinking, right there, is responsible for just about every problem on God’s green Earth.
We need to be more compassionate. Period.
More compassionate to the less fortunate, to elders, to other ethnicities, to anyone we deem different, and of course, to animals.
Wouldn’t we want someone to stand up for us if we couldn’t stand up for ourselves?
Of course we would.
But animals don’t count when we want our burgers.
Because that would be awfully un-American.
And, the truth is, you’re just one person. Your efforts can barely scratch the surface.
But imagine if everyone thought that way?
Oh right, everyone already does.
And with that said, I was just about to switch my seat at Starbucks. I’m sitting at a table intended for eight people and two kids are doing math homework next to me. They’re not annoying, but I can hear them through my headphones and if I make my music any louder, I’ll probably hemorrhage somewhere.
But, alas, I’m staying put.
Because I just caught a whiff of the both of them. They smell like pencil sharpenings.
The smell of youth. The smell of cutesy problems.
I miss that.
I really miss that).
– end scene –
People often ask me how they can support me as a writer (actually, I’ve never been asked this – by anyone, ever).
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