Slangin' Cake Farts

I got way too high. That's what I like about vape pens: discretion. You just go around the corner and all of a sudden you're high. But they usually hit you light and you usually have to take a few puffs before you can be sure you got something. But this one hit me like a bong rip. Expanded my lungs so I breathed out more than I took in. 

This was after the guitarist played enough to make all the bar guests buy more drinks. After the three Mexicans came in and showed me that video of a naked chick baking a cake. So I one-upped them by showing them cake farts. Two things everyone loves, chocolate cake and naked chicks, ruined. They hung on right up until they saw that ass hole open up and then they screamed as in submission. 

This was after the snafu with the drink tickets: "Tickets are only for draft beer." "What's on draft?" "The tap is broken." Then what do these get me?" "Box Chardonnay." After the Japanese exchange students had a birthday party in the corner and gave us all their extra cake. After whole day goes by and all the weird shit and running around, the guitarist hands me a pen and says, "Want some?"

"Yes I do."

And then I shut the fuck up for the next halfhour to an hour. Time loses all meaning and I know I can't talk to anyone or I'll forget what the fuck I'm doing. I'll stand in the middle of the room and stare off, knowing I'm forgetting something but not being able to figure out what it was. Just gotta get the fuck outta there. 

I clock out and just hang for a minute because I feel bad for getting quiet that last hour. I shoot the shit but I'm no good at conversation when I'm high, and I let him know.

"I lost that entire last bit of what you said," I tell him. "I was hanging on until you mentioned the shit about your phone and then I just checked out." That pen really snuck up on me. 

I worry about the front desk guy catching on to me and he's just worried about the pissed off guest who lost his house in a fire. Now he needs a room with two rooms. But all of our rooms only have one room.

A PETTY MAN: You win this time, EuroCaffé

         I went into the café down the street where the coffee is good and the service is rocky at best. It’s the kind of place where you could find yourself waiting upwards five minutes at the front of a line with nobody in it. But the product they make absolutely blows the competition out of the water. It’s abusive, really, the way they hold their superior product up for ransom so you have to feel like a second-class citizen before you can enjoy the best tiramisu in town.

         So today I had enough time, I felt, to prove a point. I was going to march right in there, stand at the front of the line for a good two minutes and leave abruptly so that those autocrats behind the counter could know, once and for all, that their product will not be sold at the cost of my sanity and sense of self-worth. I could picture it: three people in the whole shop, the tables virtually empty, and me waiting, patiently at first. Then beginning to tap my foot anxiously as each employee snubs me, one at a time telling me how “It’ll just be another minute,” while they take the next five minutes to figure out their business model. Then I storm out righteously and patron any of the other myriad coffee shop/cafes in town.

Who in the hell do you even think you are, EuroCaffe.

So I march in. Three employees and two lonely tables inhabiting the whole place. I walk up, money in hand, just to let them know I came in knowing what I want and I do not “need a minute” to read over the menu.

Then the girl at the counter promptly takes my order and makes my drink. I walk out, much to my chagrin, a satisfied customer. You win this time, EuroCaffe.