Maybe the Refugee is a bad influence. Most people, I suppose, would consider that an obvious statement. But, I always assumed he was such a repugnant loser that none of his characteristics would be appealing and infiltrate my personality, consciously or subconsciously. Turns out I was wrong and joined the ranks of social pariah, destroying community and the goodwill of men.
Sunday afternoon was beautiful. Sun. Blue Sky. Slight breeze causing a comfortable chill. I just showered from the gym, having come one step closer to attaining the body of a Greek god. Feeling sprite and energetic, I thought it would be a good idea to venture outside the confines of my luxurious estate and see what commonfolk do on a day like this. So, laptop in tow, I went to the local coffee shop. After reviewing the beverage menu, I opted for tea, wanting caffeine stimulation without the bitter kick of coffee. I decided on Burroughs Brew, which is Black Tea infused with coconut taste. One must assume the tea is named after William Burroughs and has something to do with his travels through Tunisia and Morocco. What exactly, I can’t say. Is it the tea? Coconut? Or maybe they were only after the alliteration and hipster, over-the-top literary reference. There is also a stylized portrait of Burroughs on the wall. The coffee shop cannot be blamed for the indulgence as they probably don’t pick the artists collection. Still, I wonder if I can shoot heroin in a place like this. Anyway, the tea was pretty good. The sweet coconut cut the bitterness of the Black, creating a mild but jittery drink.
Let’s backtrack, though. It’s getting too pleasant.
First, after I order the drink and it was served in the French Press, in a clumsy stupor, I knocked the French Press containing the full order of tea onto the floor. After dumbfoundedly staring at the spilled tea for a few seconds, I told the counter girl that I spilled the tea. She said she was aware and kindly refilled the tea while somebody mopped up my mess. They probably thought I was in a drug stupor, as that seems to be the crowd they are angling for. So, really, up to this point, I was just fulfilling the shop's mission.
I found myself a quiet table, unfolded my laptop, and sought to hop onto the internet via the shop's free wireless service. After several minutes of indications that my signal was low to good but unable to connect, I started banging my fists and wailing in frustration. I frantically roamed up and down the length of the shop with my laptop, murmuring incoherently about getting on the goddam internets, and finally returned to my seat in a huff. I continued banging on my laptop keyboard, hoping this would do the trick. After several minutes, some dude came up to my table and said "I'm gonna clue you in, they shut off the server on weekends to foster community." This took a minute to register, as I was staring at a huge mole protruding from his left nostril. Then I thought to myself, damn, I ruined this communal vibe. Everyone must hate me now that I destroyed their temporary, humane connection and are left to wallow in the crushing loneliness of modernity. I felt like the Refugee.
Later I'll write about how I got gay Nate's phone number.
