Douchey Guy: “Did he ask you?”
Baristo: “Ask what?”
Douchey Guy: “Did he ask you!?

Douchey Guy points at the douchey device in his ear.

Douchey Guy: “I’m on my phone…”
Baristo: “Oh.”
Douchey Guy: “Did he ask you to meet at my house on Saturday?”

People in line wait for conversation to finish.

Woman on Phone: Did you get that book of baby names I gave you?… Oh… Though Mika almost sounds like a dog or a cat or something.  Like a made-up name or a little Asian name… Yeah, CeeCee is a good one too.  It kinda goes with Sophia.  I wonder if you could spell it with a K.

The Barista held up a plastic spoon…

Barista: Would you like a spoon for that?
Brad: No…

I had actually gotten the “no” out before stopping myself from what I was about to say.  My full though was, “No, I’ll just eat it with my hands.”  I’m pretty sure I was prepared to make a digging/scooping motion, like a raccoon trying to grab something shiny at the bottom of a cup or Winnie the Pooh with a honey pot.

Luckily I realized that this would have made me a complete dick.

Brad: … I mean yes, please.

Dickery avoided.

This assumption was clearly made by the Russian man and woman sitting next to me.  They originally started speaking in Russian, but then the man said something and nodded toward me.  The girl turned and looked at me.  While that was a little weird in its own right, the truly bizarre part was the story of which I apparently reminded him.

As he was nodding at me, his eyes went wide with a triggered memory.  He (oddly enough) switched into English and it went something like this…

(Note: I was actually typing this out as he was telling the story.  This is a direct transcript with a small amount of short hand.)

“Oh!  You know he tried to kill his wife?  He had an Arco gas station near disneyland making a lot of money.  Now he married this girl.  When he was engaged to her he went to her house.  We were all there.  Me my dad.  He took her in his car and screwed her… so, she was a slut.  So, he has his first gas station. He bought a house and then she was going to divorce and walk away with a lot of money.

At this point, he started laughing.  The laughter built to such a hysterical state that he was having trouble getting the rest of the story out.  The remainder of this story was told while wearing a huge smile with occasional pauses to chuckle.  He also added in the appropriate hand gestures to mimic the various actions.

“He puts on a mask and sneaks in the room and he is choking her while she is sleeping.  He is talking shit and somehow she rips off the mask.  She starts screaming, “Don’t kill me! I’m the mother of your kids!”  Then he just runs out.  She presses charges.  They put a warrant out for his arrest, but he already ran away.  He pays her off to drop the charges.  He pays her a lot of money.  And who does he enep marrying?  His friend’s wife that she’s cheating with.”

(Another Note: He laughed the loudest while trying to mimic the woman yelling, “Don’t kill me! I’m the mother of your kids.”)

The moral of the story?  Arco gas sucks.

*Bonus tidbit: While I was outside on a phone call, I caught the Russian woman rubbing the corner of my closed laptop that I’d left on my chair.  She saw me see her, but never mentioned it when I sat back down.

A man who may or may not have been homeless had been wandering around outside of Starbucks since I’d arrived.  After a few hours of wandering, he decided to come into the virtually empty establishment, sit down in the chair next to me (which was in close enough proximity that I could smell his pungent odor), then stare at me.

While this may have just been a person unrefined in the subtleties of people watching, I didn’t really want to stick around.  I also didn’t want him to think I was leaving just because he’d sat down next to me (he was a minority and that might be construed as a hate crime).  Here are the steps that I followed to make my tasteful getaway:

1. Turn cellphone ringer to loud.
2. Log into AIM on laptop.
3. Send self a text message warning self to “GTFO!”
4. Wait for text message to arrive with a chime.
5. Read text message with a concerned expression on your face.
6. Immediately pack up your belongings and leave.
Bonus: 7: Check text message one last time because you can hardly believe what it just said.

*Note: you may also use this technique on dates, but the other person is usually ready to leave by the step 2.

Excited Bro: Dude, was Derek Jeter cool?!
(excited pause)
Excited Bro: Were there lots of hot chicks there?!
(his volume level dropping significantly)
Downtrodden Bro: Oh, not really?

After that revelation the volume of his voice dropped to a point where I could no longer effectively eavesdrop.

I’ve been keeping this story on the back-burner for a while because it was still simmering, but I’m pretty sure it’s done now. Ready to be doled to the readers of this site.

In order to fully understand this post, some background reading is required. I made a post about a Fellow Regular (FR) a while back with the condition that if I were to start talking to her again, the post would be immediately removed. Well, as fate would have it, removal of the post was required. The post is now back up, and you can read it here.

Alright. All caught up? Good.

The new chapter in this story begins with me being productive. I’d recently started writing actual pages on a new script, which lead to me spending more time at Starbucks. This additional time at Starbucks led to me running into FR again, and, as you’ve probably assumed, I acted awkwardly. A failed Michael Caine joke, a story about how people get high by dipping cigarettes in formaldehyde, etc.

Still, things didn’t go too awry, and actual conversations were had. I even saw her at one of the Starbucks locations I’d told her I alternated to. I was driving out as she was driving in. Did she go there because I’d mentioned that I am there from time to time?

This is when I’d finally resolved I’d had enough of being awkward. I was going to act like a normal person, maybe even be vaguely charismatic. It really couldn’t be that hard. Could it?

So, I’m sitting, doing work, when FR walks in. I smile, she smiles, I take off my headphones, and it goes a little something like this…

Brad: Hello.
FR: Hi. Do you want to marry me?

At this point all hope of not being awkward has just been smashed at over 99% the speed of light causing little higgs boson particles to come flying out.

Brad: What?
FR: Do you want to marry me?

Before I continue, let me explain my thought process leading to my next statement. I’m thinking maybe this is all a corny joke because we see each other so much. “Maybe we should just get married, har har.”

Brad: Did I see you at the other Starbucks?
FR: Yeah. But do you want to get married?
Brad: Sounds like it could be fun, but maybe we should go on a date first. Can I pick you up at 8?

Wait. No. That’s not what I said. That would have been smooth. This is how it actually went…

Brad: Did I see you at the other Starbucks?
FR: Yeah. But do you want to get married?
Brad: Uhhhhhh-
FR: I need to get in-state tuition, and the only way I can become a resident fast enough is to get married.
Brad: Ohhh. Well, I’m not really in the marrying mood.

Yes, that’s what I actually said.

FR: Okay, well if you know anyone that would want to get married.
Brad: I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.
FR: Oh, I’m just joking.
Brad: Oh.
FR: But not really.
Brad: Oh.

After a bit of silence, we actually managed to start a normal conversation where she tells me about creepers that hit on her at Starbucks, I tell her about some of the weird stuff I’ve witnessed (without mentioning the blog), a creeper actually ends up talking to her for a bit, I make a joke that the creeper would marry her, etc. She even took a phone call at one point, then came back in to tell me that her dad didn’t think that it was a good idea that she get married.

Well, that was probably the most awkward moment I could have had talking to this person, and it’d passed. It’s all downhill from here.

No.

The story isn’t finished.

I tell this story to a couple of friends. These friends are convinced that FR is hitting on me. What if they are right? But I don’t want to be a creeper. Maybe I should just ask her out to coffee. That would be funny and charming because we always see each other at coffee in the first place, right? I decide to think on it.

A few days go by and I run into her again (at the alternate Starbucks). Small talk is had. Smiles and exchanged.

A few more days and I run into her again, but only very briefly.

Now, though, I’m beginning to think that maybe my friends were right. Besides, what’s the harm in asking someone out to coffee? The worst thing they could say is no. Right?

So I make a mental decision. The next time I see her, I won’t be awkward, I’ll try to be charming, then I’ll ask her out to coffee. For those that don’t know me, this is extremely out of character.

Now I’m sitting in Starbucks, being relatively productive, when FR walks in and takes a seat next to me.

Brad: Hey.
FR: Hey.
Brad: How’s the spouse hunt going?
FR: Oh, I got married yesterday.
Brad: Haha.
FR: No. Seriously. I married this guy I used to date. Down at the courthouse.
Brad: Wow.

As she continued to describe the humorous details of the ceremony, my first thought was, “Phew. Now I don’t have to ask her out.” Of course, the details of her story took an interesting turn…

FR: Yeah, and I even had to kiss the guy in front of the judge. It was really awkward.
Brad: Oh?
FR: Yeah. And I think the guy might have the wrong idea about us because he was texting me this morning.

Hold the phone. Is she going out of her way to downplay this marriage?

So, as always, small talk is had and way too much coffee is consumed. As a matter of fact, I get completely jacked up on caffeine. This is when I start thinking that I need to start doing things that aren’t very Brad-like. Go out on a limb.

I make a decision. I’ll ask her if it would be weird if I asked her out now that she is married. It’s an easy question to either turn down (”Yeah, that might be a little weird right now…”) or accept (”No. Adultery rocks!”).

Now let me set the scene. I’m packing up my stuff as FR gets some coffee. As I stand by the door, ready to leave, she is standing at the creamer counter next to me. My hand is already on the doorknob.

FR: You taking off?
Brad: Yeah…. Say, can I ask you a hypothetical question… Now that you’re married would it be weird if I asked you out to coffee?

So did she say yes or no? Neither. She stared at me, silent. It felt like an eternity, but was actually about four long seconds. Four seconds of silence, eyes locked. This is the one horrifying scenario that I hadn’t considered. Count out four Mississippis. It’s longer than you think.

Brad: Wow, that was weird. Sorry.

At this point, I’ve already opened the door and started backing out while still facing her. Like a man worried to turn his back on someone he’s just held at gunpoint, I slip out the door and make my escape.

Here is another thing I didn’t expect. I felt great. It wasn’t so much the way the situation played out, but that I’d done something that I didn’t expect from myself. I’d liken it to racing a car. You may lose, but damn if it doesn’t make you happy just from going fast.

Anyway, that was it. That was the pinnacle of awkwardness. I asked out a girl that had been married for less than 48 hours, and was met with silence. I then avoided that Starbucks for about a week. Then changed my schedule a bit. Then after a while ran into FR again, and a couple of times after that. We both pretend like the encounter never took place and still make some small talk.

Congratulations if you made it this far, and, as with the previous post, this one will spontaneously disappear should I ever mention this website to her during aforementioned small talk.

“I wish they’d put some rum in that for me.”

I chuckled because I thought it was just a funny comment.  She took my chuckle to mean that she needed to justify her afternoon drinking desire to me.

“Oh, well, I just locked my keys in my car.”

I guess that’s as good a reason as any, and she wouldn’t have been drinking and driving.

Oh, are you going to be serving dead cow?…  I don’t eat dead cow…  Brian eats dead cow.  Brian eats anything.

The most painful part was that she kept putting extra emphasis on “dead cow” as she smiled and looked around.  She was obviously hoping that someone would notice how clever she was being and fall in love with her.  Or at least laugh along.  I don’t know.