My name is Brad. I am a writer, I am awkward in social situations, and I spend a lot of time in coffee shops trying to escape all of the terribly distracting things I find at home (video games, movies, tv, cats, comics, vitamin water, robots, etc.). I rotate amongst local coffee shops throughout the week so that no single location becomes too familiar with my presence. Spending any appreciable amount of time in one place is bound to make you privy to the occasional odd situation, but I have come to believe that coffee shops are breeding grounds for weird. The following is my account of the wonderfully weird and horribly awkward situations I have encountered.

Yes, That’s French They’re Speaking, Thanks To Muzzy.

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this, but I usually get most of the stories for this blog while my productivity is at a minimum.  I’ve usually lost interest in my work, and thusly become more interested in my surroundings.

Well this particular incident begins with me being productive, headphones on, nose buried in a script.  That productivity came to a screeching halt when a hand started waving around in front of my face.

I pulled out my headphones to see Productivity Ruining Lady (PRL) standing in front of my two person table (which held my laptop).  She was about 50, Middle Eastern (maybe Indian?) and had a French accent.  She was accompanied by her French man-friend, 40ish, who was later to be referred to as Sebastian.

PRL: Can we sit here?
Brad:  What?  Right here?
PRL: Yes.  Here.

PRL is pointing at my table.  I look around the room to see no other tables available.  At first, I thought she was asking me to leave, but I soon realized that PRL and Sebastian wanted to share my two person table.

What choice did I have but to say okay?

Now Sebastian pulls up a chair next to me, while PRL sits across from me.  They immediately start up a conversation… in French.  I don’t understand any of it, other than every few moments they say “Slumdog” and “Carmel Macchiato.”

Oh, I should also probably mention that instead of using punctuation at the end of their sentences, they would kiss.  Deep long kisses.  While Sebastian rubbed his hand on PRL’s thigh.

Determined not to let them bully me away from my table, I stayed for a solid 15 minutes.  Open tables came and went, but they seemed to be content with mine.

It was only when they full-on made out in front of me that I finally decided that I was out-matched.  I packed my things.  In a fit of irony, I was retreating from the French.

As I left they didn’t even acknowledge the fact that I’d ever even been there in the first place.

One last note: As you probably already noticed, there is a fairly poor picture of PRL included.  I desperately wanted to take a well-framed photo of the whole situation, but we were all so close that there was no way to take a picture, even under the guise of pretending to text.

Finally, after Jamie thankfully called me, I pretended to have another call on the line, and, while faking an attempt at switching calls/searching for reception, I was able to snap off that one sad photo.  It is my only record of the incident.  I can’t wait to go back to Kean.

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