Coffee Chronicles ...and I Know on Which Side My Bread is Buttered

Whaddup Chroniclers?

You guys probably think it’s all rainbows and unicorns over here at the coffeehouse. Well I feel the need to tell you, it’s no tea party. Take the other day, for example. The HB forgot that she needed her laptop at the salt mine. Next thing you know, I got a phone call with what sounded like a simple request.

She sounded all sweet and syrupy when I answered the phone, “Hey, Sweetie, I need my laptop. If you're not busy and you have nothing to do, would you drop it by the office before one o'clock? But only if you have time, okay?”

Reading between the lines, I heard exactly what she said. Here’s the translation: “Look, Bucko! I don’t really have any idea what you do all day, and frankly, not my problem. Drop whatever you’re doing and bring me my laptop. You have fifteen minutes to get it done. Oh. And bring some of those five-gallon water bottles wit' ya.”

Do you think I did it? You’re dad gum right I did. I got it done with about 27 seconds to spare, too. Pressure makes diamonds, baby!

Yesterday, I got an emergency request from a band member. Yoko Uno needed some head shots done for a resume, most Ricky-tick. “No prob. I got you,” I told her, “I’ve got my stuff handy here at the coffeehouse. C’mon over. Bring the Professor. Tell him to leave the red nose in the car.”

They came over, we got the shots, and some eight minutes into the visit, the Professor started yawning. “Can we go now? I’m sleepy.”

Yoko wasn’t having it. She wanted to hang out. “We've only been here ten minutes.”

“But I’m sleepy,” whined the Professor.

“A few more minutes,” Yoko glared at the Professor, “it’s not even seven forty-five yet. You're always trying to break up the band,” she hissed at him. "And the blame gets transferred to me."

“SEVEN FORTY-FIVE?!?!” The Professor bellowed. “It’s almost my bedtime, and I have a routine.”

Yoko looked at the HB, "You see this, right? It's not me. It's him," she said, pointing at the Professor.

My interest was piqued by the "routine" thing. “Say what now? You have a routine? What kind of routine do you have?” I asked him.

“I have to prepare myself.”

“To go to bed?” The incredulity had to be leaking out in my voice. “You mean like every night?” As I looked closer at the Professor, it was much easier to guess his real age without the grease paint, purple wig, and red nose.

“Look, I have to perform my ritual or I can’t fall asleep right away.”

I was mesmerized. “Do tell.”

“First, I pull my PJs out of the warmer and slip into them — it's gotta be the left leg first, then my right. My favorite ones have the pink dinosaurs on them. Then I need my toes done. I wash and massage oil into them, one at a time. Then I slip into my fuzzy bunny slippers and walk down to the kitchen to get a cup of some warm milk.”

“After I've leisurely sipped my milk and eaten three Oreos — NOT two — NOT four, but three Oreos, am I ready. It’s then, and only then, can I slip between my silk sheets, lay my head on my silk pillowcase, and fall asleep blissfully.”

After hearing this, I gotta tell you I have a whole new perspective on the Professor. I used to think of a guy with big floppy shoes, a red nose, and a tiny little car. Now, honestly, I don’t know what to think. Oh well.

Head shots came out great, by the way.

Well, you know what to do! Drink ‘em if you got ‘em!

#coffeehousechronicles