Starbucks: Yuppies/Groupies
(Friday, September 28, 2007)
the sweet aroma of coffee on a sleepy friday afternoon seems cleverly attractive, if not heavenly. to some, it would be the greatest pleasure of all time. filled with an ambience of chill out jazz, there's only a dosage of sex here that could make things better.
anyway, here i am, on a fucking friday afternoon in a local starbucks, drenched in an absolute ambiance of the most hyped drink ever since alcohol, can't help to feel that the place is surrounded by a bunch of yuppies.
i mean, why not. there's a juvenile couple on the corner end to my right was playing daddy yankee video from you tube, wrecking through the still jazz silence, to my left a man is downloading movies to watch. the lad at the counter is sucking a lollipop at the most indescribable pompous manner, it's getting on my nerves. he's what many would call a yahoo. i blame the couple because they are young and stupid and untactful by blasting disconcerting rap music in a public area. why would anyone want to do that? the laptop speakers sounds awful and the rap is something stale from a couple of years back. the man doesn't have internet connection at home that he has to watch movies in starbucks? and there's nothing nastier to see a thug wannabe suck on a lollipop.
zoe, my best friend, goes to starbucks to do her after hours works with her fancy laptop as well. personally, it feels so wrong. something are meant to happen in the privacy of one's own room or house and now, we bring it out to the public through the local coffee shop. in fact, maybe it's so cosy, we mistaken it as one of our private space. the rational of it is, perhaps the coffee shop is too comfortable, we striped all our private defenses before we walk in, wrongfully assuming it wants us to get too comfortable.
since they want us to let loose, we do it. but some do it looser than others, for instance that jack off couple that thinks that it's ok to show their love for rap music to everyone that don't quite welcome it as much as they do. at the end of the day, we should have the conscience for other's privacy in exchange for the freedom feel at home here.
i must admit, it does feel like home here. after all, i have managed do profane my thoughts out which i've not been able to do for many months already, even at home. but i'm not about to come in my boxer, lift my shirt right before my chest and cut my toenails here.
fucking hell: where's the fucking paper?
(Monday, September 03, 2007)
getting a copy of the morning english paper is absolutely impossible. i bet you, it's so fucking difficult, killing a dragon and screwing the sexy hot blonde heroin twins needs less effort. i fucking went to the fucking store and the guy pointed at the chinese paper with a puzzled face.
"lu tarak baca cina ka?"
if only i could fight like the legendary ali, i'd fucking kick him on the nuts. twice. or more. so without a waste of time, i discharge the overwhelming need to inflict injury to the puzzled looking indian man and went to the more trusty 7-Eleven to cure my morning withdrawal.
decent looking chap acknowledges me by saying wishing me a good morning. the initial impression is that he looks intelligent and will be able to give me my fucking morning paper. after closer inspection and some degree of rummaging through the fucking shelves, there was nothing! i politely asked him for the morning paper and the previously intelligent looking gentleman is now looking very incompetent. with an unwilling smile, he informed me that it's not in yet.
in my head, i have all the intention to nail him to the wall and shove a shoe into his mouth. damn those fucking convenient store to hell!
if i ever have my own country, whoever that doesn't have morning paper in the store by at least 4 hours before the usual business hour, the policemen should put two bullets into their skulls to ensure no repeat incidents, ever. their suppliers will get the fucking cane until newspaper comes out from their ass, their wives and daughters...well, they'll get what they deserve.
that ought to teach them a lesson.
