Friday, October 24, 2003

Five Million Dollars.

Met this dude sporting what was obviously a hospital wrist band (what type of hospital, and what ward, I shall let you decide) who was entering a Starbucks I frequent just as I was leaving.

He had control of the real estate around the door, and I wasn't getting by without a conversation.

His opener?
"Five million dollars!!"

My opener?
"Wow. That's a lot of money."

Him- "That's how much the Government is paying the Stones to play at Sarstock!"

Me- "Wow."

Him- "Charlie Watts is an amazing drummer, eh?"

Me- "Yes, he is."

Him- "I used to drum, too, you know."

Me- "Really? You look like a drummer."

Him- "I saw Charlie Watts once. He was like [thrashing, drumming action--very intense]. I was a fucking disgrace!"

Me- "I'm sure that you're exaggerating. I bet you were good."

Him- "No. No, man, I wasn't. I stunk."

Seconds later the man was bounced from Starbucks by a fleet of Barista who obviously already had a prior relationship with the man, and weren't interested in his entertaining tales concerning civil expenditures or his previous drumming experience.
I had to run, anyway.

I met him another time, at another Starbucks, and he noticed that I was wearing steel-toed boots. I told him I was, and that he could stomp on my toes all day long and I wouldn't feel a thing.
He proceeded to stomp on my toes.
I felt nothing.

The Baristas at this particular store were horrified beyond action, and stood shivering in their green aprons while my friend exhausted himself with his little 'experiment'.

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