This One's For You, Coffee Shop Girl

Progress Coffee Shop Coffee Shop Girl, why have you forsaken me? What did I do to incur your wrath? All week long, I have sat anonymously on the patio, drinking my mediocre Joe from a ceramic mug and studying my lines. Today I read Sister Carrie and you still sighed heavily when I came in. What is it? Are you mad because I didn't tip you after I self-served my coffee? Or are you put out I because I refill my six ounce mug so liberally? What do you care? I paid two dollars (TWO DOLLARS?!?) for this average coffee, and all I wanna do is read and drink in peace. WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING RUDE, Progress Coffee Shop Coffee Shop Girl? Is it because you own a Barsuk Records tshirt? Are you cooler than me? I thought the whole philosophy of Barsuk was that we're all big dorks in this game of life together. At least that's how Ben Gibbard told it to me one night at an ice cream social. Anyhow, I don't know why you irk me so. Maybe it's because I always wanted to date someone like you, or better yet, be one of your ilk. Wearing my cool indie label tee's with faded Levi's, grabbing an iced coffee to go after my shift was over, then unlocking my baby blue Vespa from a parking meter as I headed off to band practice, after making promises to meet up for beers at the beer garden with you and Ceriwen and Ian and Gary. We would laugh over foreign films and bands playing at Emo's and stupid UT jocks and then maybe make out, but probably not. Do I not read the right books, Progress Coffee Shop Coffee Shop Girl? Should I be reading some Zen Motor Cycle Archer's Manual? Should we go to holistic yoga together? If I made you a mix cd, ney, TAPE, would that ease your dyspepsia? All I want to do is read and smoke and drink my crappy coffee in peace. I know it pains you, and I apologize, but look here, let's be adults, all right? I'm 28, for chrissakes. I have a job, sort of. I have a career. I have rent to pay. Actually, the part about the career wasn't true at all, but I thought you might be impressed. I don't have all day to just HANG OUT in a coffee shop, Progress Coffee Shop Coffee Shop Girl! The time for that was in high school, when I camp out and read Kafka and Bukowski and Kerouac, and scribble half assed poetry into a beat up spiral notebook, and eventually give myself an ulcer, with all that bad coffee and stupid Pall Mall cigarettes. (Jesus, what was I thinking?) Look, Progress Coffee Shop Coffee Shop Girl, I have bussed my own table for five days now, thrown away all my own trash, even EMPTIED THE ASHTRAY. What more do you want from me? You know what? Let's just pretend this whole thing never happened. Let's act like adults. I'll quit silently thinking you're the devil's spawn if you quit sighing just so when I come in for another refill. And scowling when I smile at you every morning as I pay you my two dollars.
Who am I kidding? I'm gonna go home right now andblogaboutyouyou....youcutecoffeeshopgirl!
*SIGH*
Wow.
Maybe I need to drink less coffee, what do you think Progress Coffee Shop Coffee Shop Girl?
You may have one this round. But I will be back. Oh yes, I shall live to see another day.
'Til Monday then?
Have a nice weekend!