I usually take the main drag into work, but lately, there’s been a lot of construction and a lot of delays. It sucks and is highly frustrating. I’ve taken to exiting the freeway earlier and driving through Tam Valley to get to work, stopping not at my ghetto gas station off the freeway for coffee, but at the conveniently located Starbucks.
As I stood in line waiting for my much needed latte, this older guy with a Homer Simpson-esque separation of t-shirt and pant starts eyeing me. I pretend to dig thought my Michael Kors knock-off, hoping to avoid his persistent eye contact at all costs. But Homer takes no hints and comes up behind me, tapping me on the shoulder.
Annoyed and slightly frightened, I turn around and stare him down, attempting to appear as intimidating as possible. Undeterred, he looks me up and down and says, “Nice specs.”
I should point out, there were tons of perfectly hot guys in this Starbucks, guys I would love to tap me on the shoulder and say something hopefully wittier than, “Nice specs.” But they were busy talking to supermodel brain surgeons, all of whom seemed to sport the Gwen Stefani-esque separation of t-shirt and pant.
Trapped, I replied with a disinterested, “Thanks”, and prayed for the fucking barista to speed up that foam. Homer apparently couldn’t think of anything else to say. He just stood there, staring at my specs and eating some kind of pastry from his Starbucks bag, getting most of it on his already filthy shirt. Finally, the coffee wench screams, “Bev!” and assuming she meant me, I grab the coffee and split, saying not a word to Homer. Driving the rest of the way to work, I lament the fact that Homer found me attainable, resigning myself to the fact that I’m probably destined to end up with someone who spills food on themselves and says things like, “Nice specs.”
I roll my eyes, turn up the gay disco, and take a sip of my latte. Only, it’s not a latte. It’s someone named Bev’s green tea…