Lost Elements Of Resistance.

What is the actual point of going to a Starbucks in downtown on LA on the weekend? Unadulterated and raw masochistic joy has to be top of the list. Fancying casual glances at the de-evolution of humanity a close second. Curiosity as to how ill-bred toursits live a distant third, but third nonetheless.

Anyway, yesterday I popped into (my not usual) Starbucks for an iced America-no. I was like second in line so I thought it would be a breeze. No. And then more no. Devoid fantasist with Half Life on his jumbotron MacBook Pro wouldn't let this nice lady sit at a chair next to his table so the waiting area got crowded.

Some pathetic tourist with her seven year old daughter dressed like a contestant on American Idol made a tee-total spectacle of herself when the barista handed a coffee to someone other than her. "I was before her!" the mother screamed. In front of her seven year old daughter who was wearing a leather motorcycle jacket and Gucci riding-ish boots.

Point in fact she wasn't before the other lady, she was right behind me actually and I remember because she literally screamed in my ear when she asked whether they had a bathroom. The barista struggled to regain composure. I stood there with my mouth ajar and I know I shouldn't comment on other people's manners when I stand around gaping, but honestly. It messed up my order, they finally got to me after they served everyone else who was convinced they were the only lifeform on the planet and this proximately caused me to engage in a conversation with a carbie I've not so endearingly come to refer to as Porker.

At the intersection in front of my office Porker lumbers up in his felt blazer and jeans. I fucking hate people who wear blazers with jeans. Make some sort of commitment in your life I say. He's incapable of making eye contact and has this weird condition which forces him to blink a lot. Quite distracting if you've been trained to look people in the eye and not act tweaky.

I distinctly remember telling him on a couple of occasions that I take the subway in, but this doesn't stop him from driving his heaving locomotive of awkward casual conversation forward by asking me where I parked. I reminded him of how I commute and hopefully embarrassed him by recounting his commute for him. Arcadia is it? And you find it easier to take surface streets most the way as I recall? Did you manage to make it in alright? Oh dear you got a ticket did you how very unfortunate and in the back of my mind I think it serves the drooling cro-magnon right.

Working on weekends is just sub-natural.