Coffeehouse Chronicles: Papi Churro Takes Texas

Papi Churro & I enjoying a smoke

Hey Chroniclers! You got your cup?

Good.

Let's start this over because today's story deserves proper handling.

This one's about my buddy Papi Churro.

And before we get started, I need to clear up an important misunderstanding.

I was telling my friend David about Papi, and being a native Spanish speaker, he looked at me and said, "Do you mean Papi Chulo?"

I said, "No. Absolutely not."

For those unfamiliar, Papi Chulo is a term of endearment.

Papi Churro, on the other hand, is much more accurately described as a doughy, sugary snack that's been rolling around in the heat for too long.

David said, "That's terrible."

I said, "Have you met him?"

Now Papi lives in Arizona, but he's heading to Texas for what should be one of the proudest occasions of his life.

His son is graduating from a Texas police academy.

The Rodriguez family tradition continues.

A new generation enters law enforcement.

A proud father-son moment.

A chance to celebrate years of hard work and sacrifice.

Which means Papi has found at least twenty-seven things to complain about.

Papi pleading his case.

First, the drive.

Papi calls me and starts ranting about the Texas Highway Patrol.

Apparently they're harassing innocent motorists.

I asked, "What happened?"

He said, "I got stopped for no reason."

"No reason?"

"Well... my cruise control was set at 90."

Now folks, Papi treats speed limits the same way most people treat serving sizes on ice cream containers.

He sees a suggestion.

Next comes the graduation plan.

Apparently there's a city-sponsored event and then the actual academy graduation.

Papi wants to know why they can't just hold everything in one place.

I said, "Because it's Texas."

It's about 107 degrees.

If they held the ceremony outdoors, the graduation certificate would double as a dehydration report.

The only thing sweating harder than the graduates would be Papi.

And that's saying something.

The man can sweat while watching a weather report.

Then he starts complaining about his Class A uniform.

"Now I gotta wear my uniform."

Actually, no, he doesn't.

Nobody told him to.

Nobody asked him to.

The man voluntarily puts it on.

This is the same guy who complains about his former agency every chance he gets.

Yet the second there's a chance for a photograph, that uniform comes out of the closet faster than a superhero hearing a distress signal.

Apparently retirement ends right where a photo opportunity begins.

Then Papi discovers they trained his son on impact weapons.

"But they don't issue them!"

He's furious.

"What are they supposed to use?"

I don't know, Papi.

Maybe strongly worded disappointment.

Perhaps interpretive dance.

Maybe they can simply lecture suspects about fuel prices until they surrender voluntarily.

A few hours later, I get another phone call.

"Holy cow! Everybody out here weighs 300 pounds!"

Well, Papi, after three days of biscuits and gravy, grits, barbecue, chicken-fried steak, pecan pie, and sweet tea thick enough to patch drywall, things happen.

Everything in Texas is bigger.

Including apparently the breakfast menu.

Then comes another crisis.

He arrived Monday.

Graduation isn't until Wednesday.

"What am I supposed to do for two days?"

I suggested sightseeing.

The silence that followed suggested I had proposed hard labor.

Now we get to my favorite part.

Technology.

Papi calls me for every tech question known to man.

He then ignores every answer.

Every.

Single.

One.

He's worried about taking pictures and videos of the graduation.

I said, "Use your iPhone."

Great camera. Easy to use. Fits in your pocket.

But Papi is a man who is more comfortable living in the world of Ozzie and Harriet than in the 21st century.

Technology reached approximately 1958, and Papi looked around and said, "Yep. That's enough progress right there."

This man views streaming services with the same suspicion most people reserve for used car salesmen.

I'm convinced he still believes the cloud is an actual cloud.

He tells me he brought three cameras.

Three.

I think one of them qualifies for an antique roadshow.

Another one may have documented Elvis sightings.

The third camera probably came with a complimentary roll of film.

I tell him again:

"Use your iPhone."

"No."

"But it takes better pictures."

"No."

"It's easier."

"No."

"It's already in your pocket."

"No."

Arguing with Papi is like playing chess with a pigeon.

The pigeon knocks over all the pieces and struts around like it won.

Then he goes to Walmart.

A perfectly innocent employee tells him exactly what I told him.

"Just use your iPhone."

Now Papi is arguing with the poor guy.

Because when Papi asks for advice, what he really wants is confirmation that his original plan was genius.

He doesn't want answers.

He wants witnesses.

His big concern is being able to transfer everything to DVD.

DVD.

Not cloud storage.

Not online albums.

Not shared folders.

DVD.

His backup strategy is one technological breakthrough away from carving the pictures onto stone tablets.

At this point I fully expect him to ask where he can find a good VHS editing suite.

The hotel situation hasn't gone much better.

He checked out of the first hotel because they didn't offer complimentary coffee.

Not bedbugs.

Not bad service.

Coffee.

Apparently that's where he draws the line.

The second hotel committed some offense I was afraid to ask about.

Then he checks into a third hotel.

The clerk asks if he's a Hilton Honors member.

Papi starts calculating whether he should spend money to join.

A few moments later, he realizes...

He already is a Hilton Honors member.

He's been a member the whole time.

That's peak Papi.

The man was trying to join a club he was already in.

It's like showing up to your own birthday party and introducing yourself to the host.

So let's review.

Papi got stopped doing 90.

Complained about the graduation.

Complained about the heat.

Complained about uniforms he chose to wear.

Complained about academy training.

Complained about Texas food.

Complained about having free time.

Complained about modern technology.

Complained about hotels.

Argued with Walmart.

And almost bought a membership he already had.

All while celebrating one of the proudest moments in his son's life.

Honestly, if Papi ever goes an entire day without complaining, I'm not calling a doctor.

I'm calling an archaeologist because clearly we've entered a different era.

But if you happen to see a guy in a Class A uniform, carrying three obsolete cameras, looking for free coffee, muttering about DVDs, and wondering why nobody lives like Ozzie and Harriet anymore...

Don't worry.

That's just Papi Churro.

And despite all evidence to the contrary, he's probably having a wonderful time.

Until next time, you know what to do:

Drink 'em if you got 'em

#coffeehousechronicles