THE (CODED) MORAL OF A (TRUE) STORY
i step into a bagel shop on mission this morning for breakfast. inside it’s quiet w/cups & napkins stacked neatly along the counter & several people standing around waiting for their number to be called.
i’m ordering an egg & cheese sandwich on a jalapeño bagel when something clubs me from behind. i turn around to find a sunburnt man w/eyes like a rabid squirrel. he’s holding a meter-long mickey mouse statue in the air, ready to swing again. but instead of attacking me, he attacks a pile of bananas next to the cash register, sending them flying across the counter. the owner doesn’t like this at all. hitting customers is one thing, apparently, but leave his bananas from ecuador alone!
“you’ll pay for those bananas,” he says.
& so this painfully insane man w/the disney statue begins to throw change everywhere.. he throws coins at the cash register, at the espresso machine, at the bagel bins & everywhere else he can think of while his money supply lasts. then the owner tells him to leave. instead he’s on the ground nibbling on one of those prize bananas.
“eighty cents for that banana,” the owner says.
“i gave you eighty cents,” he says & goes on nibbling.
then a large man standing nearby decides to crash the party too. “hey buddy, you threw around fifty cents at best.”
what the fuck is wrong w/every one of these people, i think.
“no, eighty,” says the man w/mickey mouse in his hands & banana chunks in his mustache. he goes to the counter & attempts to take a one-dollar bill from the hands of mr. fifty-cents-at-best. not the smartest move & soon he’s against the wall, being held up by a large man who is enjoying himself way too much.
the owner again asks him to leave &, not surprisingly, he agrees this time. mr. fifty-cents-at-best lets go of his neck & he scuttles out the door. right? no. first he grabs an iced latte & slams it against the wall, kicks mickey mouse like a football at the atm machine & then obliterates the cup & napkin stacks lining the counter. selah.
the place looks damaged from a summer storm, there’s coffee dripping off the ceiling & paper products everywhere. as i start picking up bits of wreckage, i can hear mr. fifty-cents-at-best talking to no one in particular.
“did you see me back him up against the wall? huh? did you see me pick him up w/one hand? i could have killed him. did you see his little cartoon character? honestly i could have killed that little twerp. did you see me lift him up like that? man, what a wuss.”
i’ve been awake for just over twenty-five minutes now. i have no faith in wednesday anymore. please, deliver me back to my bed.