For A Young Friend

This post is dedicated to a young barista who for so long now has incessantly pestered me to write it. Yet, in stern procrastination I have held off, uttering excuses like,

"I will post it soon," or " I haven't gotten the blog up and running yet, but as soon as I do..."

Well I hope the wait has paid off, for I no longer have a pliable escape, and the dupable minds of our youth are only so malleable.

The following is what I will call a reminiscent entry, as the instance occurred a good time ago, months now. So it may not be altruistically fresh in my mind, but I will attempt to report the past with as much comedic bipartisanship as possible.

It was mid-afternoon in the drive-thru, sunny and warm on the outside as typical Tucson goes and blazing hot inside, as the store's air-conditioning unit was firing on empty for the third year in a row. We were taking orders and filling orders, as intriguing as that sounds when suddenly we see an old grey something or other rounding the corner. The car itself was one of those things that you want to write about, but there is simply nothing in your mind at all that registers that it actually existed.

The thing that made not registering the car acceptable however, were the things that were attached to eachother in the cockpit. Oh yes, they were attached, attached at the lips. Whatever they were they were engaged in a tongue of war that the mighty Gandalf himself would have cowered away from. Seriously, it was as though Gene Simmons had cloned himself and then wanted to play the game, who can reach the others toes through their stomach fastest. It was probably the most immodest piece of public fore-play I have never wanted to see. In fact I'm getting a little noxious right now just picturing it.

I would probably have been inclined to acknowledge the existence of God, if that were the worst part of the episode of Cinemax meets Cops, but it wasn't; and I can rest comfortable as an atheist tonight. The worst, I mean the absolute Hannibal Lecter worst was the fact that there were two extremely young children plastered to the back seat, forced to watch the public beating that was their parents (at least I hope they were their parents) making out three feet in front of them. You remember that Cher video where she was front and center stage wearing her leather pants with the ass-cheeks cut out, so the whole world could see her lilly white posterior in all of it's middle-aged glory? That was her son playing guitar not a cars length behind her. That is what it must have been like for these innocent young children sitting in the back of the car that I can't remember.

So they finally get to the window, and someone goes to collect their money. It wasn't me, that is all I know. But I seem to distinctly remember watching the whole transaction and one thing that does not come to mind is them ever peeling away from eachother, even to talk, even to breathe. I was well beyond the point of screaming "get a room" at this point. I more wanted to yell "someone call 911." Given my overall shock however, I was forced to just watch the entire moment climax, and then slip away into oblivion, forever to be remembered as the time I realized that public affection is okay.

Public death by mutual tongue strangulation however, is not.
Thank God they were wearing clothes.