No one hates fancy and nonsensical coffee names more than pensioners, and the old in general. Witness how an old person (not-urban–ex-Dada or beatnik or something…flies into an anticipatory rage when ‘forced’ to walk into a contemporary cafe…forced because there is no where else to go…. They wait on line eying the exotically named drinks: Squirrel Nut Decaf, Purple Nurple Mocha Blend, Apocalypse Calypso Cinnamon Reward, et cetera…. They are forced to listen to music denigrating WW2, Planters Nuts, old cars, and Family Walks..et cet… The old person becomes progressively more acerbic, waves of anger coruscate around their blood rivers, splish splashing as coquettes in a bath of avocado juice, then finally…. They get to the cashier, who of course, is apathetic, and slightly sardonic in overall demeanor. Cashier is impatient as old person looks at chalk menu board in despair. Cashier is not unsumpathetic to old person’s confusion, but this is not noticed by ‘OP.’ Old person shouts: I just want coffee, regular, straight coffee, no bullshit, no skinny why-bother whipfree pussy-fusion. I don’t need any kangaroos on a broken bicycle house blend…….and so forth. He is stammering, quite rude, often vulgar, but delightfully old and cuddly in appearance. A respectable old woman who is drinking liquor from a glass jar, appears scared of what will happen. She begins to urinate on a stack of Noam Chomsky books or something like that.
The old person’s tirade becomes so wearisome and frothy, that the counter person begins developing heart problems. As the young coffee person dies, the ‘OP’ sips on a very handsome mug of the most exotic and luxurious cafe drink available, replete with unusual edible ornaments jutting from the silky membrane of treated milk. As the counter person receives medical assistance from two specialists who happen to be reading various high brow magazines in cafe, old person increasingly mellows out, and begins listening to i-pod, which he/she is not quite sure how to work at first, but then uses this device, as well as other devices that the youths of today are surgically attached to, in order to mock the moribund and ultimately quite terminal state of employee. At one point, such a device is placed on genitals of young barista, while ‘OP’ declares something or other about MP3s, and sperm, that makes no sense. After this death, old person destroys signs of all fancy coffee names in shop with a toy violin, and walks away from cafe with a posse of other old dicks.
(I have to refine idea..but I think it’s ripe for volleys of improvisational zeal.)
Domenic Maltempi