My Cup of Coffee

I attended my Apple class today.  Before class I needed a coffee, badly.  At the mall I found a shop called Starbucks.  I don’t know what they sell, but the cash register was overflowing with greenbacks.  A Brinks guard was standing nearby, with his hand on his gun. I asked the clerk if they sold coffee, and she gave me a strange look.  Then she grinned and started talking to me in slow sentences, asking me “W-h-a-t   f-l-a-v-o-r   d-o   y-o-u   w-a-n-t?” I told her I liked it black and wet.  She said I should be more specific, and called to her co-worker, “Hey Sally, get a look at this one!” Now I am accustomed to being treated with respect, so I retorted “I want 14 ounces in a 16 ounce cup, with 40% Burundi Kayanza, 60% Cafe Estima Blend, a dab of Cinnamon Dolce Syrup, topped with low fat whipped cream and a sprinkle of Samoan cocoa powder”.  I guess I showed them, but I think $17 is a bit steep for a cup of coffee. Dick ============================================ To Dick You said that the Brinks guard had his hand on his gun. That brought to mind a little 4 line poem. You were in the military and maybe you heard it. Recruits who mistakenly referred to their rifle as their gun were required to repeatedly recite, with gestures, this little poem. This is my rifle. This is my gun. This is for shooting This is for fun. There are times when I think of it because of the context where “gun” is used. The guard standing with his hand on his gun. Right there in the middle of Starbucks. What do men do at a Gun Show? Why do you need a permit to have a gun? Why is a gun considered a concealed weapon? Why do some women want to carry a gun in their purse? It is impressive that some men carry their gun in a holster. Do people know what they are doing when they vote to outlaw guns? What about the movie,”Gun Fight at the OK Corral” Was that a porn flick? What about the TV show…Peter Gun. Isn’t that redundant? Ilene

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The Jazz Club

Today I decided to go for a constitutional walk through my hometown, Norristown. I proceeded for about a mile until I reached the downtown area. At that point I was developing some aches and pains, and a definite thirst. So, I dropped into the local jazz club, The Old Mill Inn, for some refreshments.

It was about 5:30 PM, and the place was inhabited by about 10 women, in their 40’s, celebrating the end of the work week. They had consumed a few drinks and were feeling frisky. After sizing me up, they began flirting with me. Soon the flirting progressed to overt sexual overtures, accompanied by touching and feeling, pawing of my body, and fondling.

I was helpless against their attacks, which were rude, crude, and lewd. I felt I was being used as a sexual object. I finally managed to escape and go home, my clothes in complete disarray. I have never felt so ashamed, embarrassed, abused, degraded, violated and dirty.

I think I will go back there again tomorrow.

The Dance

As a youth of 21, while still an innocent, I was still looking for the love of my life. One night at a dance I thought I had found her. At first she rejected my advances, refusing to dance with me, but at the end of the dance she approached me and asked for a ride home. I recognized a come-on when I saw one so I agreed, even though she lived 45 miles in the wrong direction.

While driving I pondered how to get her to ask me in for milk and cookies, when she announced, “You know Richard, I have mononucleosis and hepatitis, which are highly contagious”. I was blown away; she actually did care for me and was truly interested in my health. She could have just ravished me for my body, but she exercised restraint for my benefit.

I responded, “Well, could I have your phone number?” She said “Of course, but mono sometimes lasts up to six months, so why don’t you call me then”.  Then she gave me her number; I will never forget it, WE-6-1212.

Unfortunately our romance withered because every time I called her, all she wanted to do to do was talk about the weather.