I love sitting in a coffee shop and playing around on my laptop. But you see some interesting people if you're here long enough.
I've been visiting the Serious Coffee on Broad for a couple of weeks now, and almost everytime I'm here, there's the same guy sitting in the dedicated wireless room. He's.... well, he's something else.
Greased back hair that looks like it's been bleached blonde, a white polo shirt, and general "nerd jeans" (you know what I'm talking about). He wears a microphone headset and always clicks madly, and I assume he's playing World of Warcraft or something. He's here for hours (I presume - I've never seen him show up or leave) and only orders one drink for the duration... and it's a pink smoothie. .
Random quotes I've heard just while writing this entry:
"Wait, what day is it? Did school start today? Shit."
"Yeah, he's not playing anymore, he's got a girlfriend now."
"BRB guys, need to pee."
Also, he has one of those scooter things that look like a skateboard with a handle. He's at least twenty two.
Moral of the story?
I think I need to stop going online in public places and troll the internet in the privacy of my own home like a normal person. Lest I turn into some sort of carnival freak
Showing posts with label overheard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label overheard. Show all posts
Inspired by real events:
"Who's your hero?"
"Hm?"
"Your hero. Who is your hero?"
"Uh. Spider Man, I guess."
"Come on, be serious."
"I thought I was...."
"Who is your hero?"
"Uh.... Malcolm Reynolds?"
"Who's he?"
"He's the captain of Serenity, from Firefly."
"Stop it! Be serious, please. I want to know who your hero is."
"I am being serious. What's wrong with Mal?"
"Well, he's not real."
"Oh! Okay. Um, I guess my hero would be Nick Hornby."
"Who's he?"
"He wrote High Fidelity and About a Boy."
"Fine. If you're not going to be serious, let's just drop it."
"Drop What!?"
"Hm?"
"Your hero. Who is your hero?"
"Uh. Spider Man, I guess."
"Come on, be serious."
"I thought I was...."
"Who is your hero?"
"Uh.... Malcolm Reynolds?"
"Who's he?"
"He's the captain of Serenity, from Firefly."
"Stop it! Be serious, please. I want to know who your hero is."
"I am being serious. What's wrong with Mal?"
"Well, he's not real."
"Oh! Okay. Um, I guess my hero would be Nick Hornby."
"Who's he?"
"He wrote High Fidelity and About a Boy."
"Fine. If you're not going to be serious, let's just drop it."
"Drop What!?"
Another Actual Conversation:
(Conversation is had over the phone)
DAVE: Hey mom. Guess what?
DAVE'S MOM: What?
DAVE: I finally shaved off the beard. I can see my face again.
DAVE'S MOM: Why would you do something stupid like that?
DAVE: ...ow.
DAVE'S MOM: I mean, um... why would you, um, shave off your beard?
DAVE: Uh, I dunno. It was on a... whim?
DAVE'S MOM: Well, don't worry. It'll grow back.
DAVE: Hey mom. Guess what?
DAVE'S MOM: What?
DAVE: I finally shaved off the beard. I can see my face again.
DAVE'S MOM: Why would you do something stupid like that?
DAVE: ...ow.
DAVE'S MOM: I mean, um... why would you, um, shave off your beard?
DAVE: Uh, I dunno. It was on a... whim?
DAVE'S MOM: Well, don't worry. It'll grow back.
An entirely TRUE conversation:
"I love beer. Because beer never gets jealous or angry when you reach for another beer!"
"Fair enough. But who likes getting head from beer?"
"Fair enough. But who likes getting head from beer?"
Happened to a friend of mine:
True story.
A friend of mine was driving his truck and came up to a stop light. He stopped slightly too late, and his truck was about halfway blocking the crosswalk - there was still enough room to cross without having to cross into the other lane, so my friend didn't reverse or anything.
He was talking to his passenger when, suddenly, WHAM! someone walked, full speed, into the driver side door.
My friend rolled down the window, furious, because the speed at which this guy had hit the door was sure to leave a dent.
"What the fuck, buddy? Are you a goddamn idiot!?" He shouted, red in the face.
And that was when he realized a blind man had just walked into his truck. A blind man who was now apologizing profusely. Even though, in the circumstances, it was entirely my friend's fault.
Did my friend point out to the blind man that this was the case? Nope. He just graciously accepted the apology, and drove off when the lights changed.
My friends are awesome.
A friend of mine was driving his truck and came up to a stop light. He stopped slightly too late, and his truck was about halfway blocking the crosswalk - there was still enough room to cross without having to cross into the other lane, so my friend didn't reverse or anything.
He was talking to his passenger when, suddenly, WHAM! someone walked, full speed, into the driver side door.
My friend rolled down the window, furious, because the speed at which this guy had hit the door was sure to leave a dent.
"What the fuck, buddy? Are you a goddamn idiot!?" He shouted, red in the face.
And that was when he realized a blind man had just walked into his truck. A blind man who was now apologizing profusely. Even though, in the circumstances, it was entirely my friend's fault.
Did my friend point out to the blind man that this was the case? Nope. He just graciously accepted the apology, and drove off when the lights changed.
My friends are awesome.
Unfortunate things that Dave Has Actually Said, part 3429:
"Hey, I saw the new Fleet Foxes CD on sale at Starbuck's yesterday."
"Really? It's out?"
"Yup. I was gonna buy it for you for your birthday, but then I figured you'd probably buy it before then."
"It can't be out yet, though! Are you sure it was Fleet Foxes CD?"
"Pretty sure, Dave."
"...but it's not supposed to come out until May!"
(pause)
"Dave. We're halfway through May."
"Oh. Yeah. Right."
"Really? It's out?"
"Yup. I was gonna buy it for you for your birthday, but then I figured you'd probably buy it before then."
"It can't be out yet, though! Are you sure it was Fleet Foxes CD?"
"Pretty sure, Dave."
"...but it's not supposed to come out until May!"
(pause)
"Dave. We're halfway through May."
"Oh. Yeah. Right."
True Story:
I do enjoy spending time with Happy Apple. She's a great friend, she cracks me up, and we do seem to get into some crazy adventures. In fact, she has a knack for crazy adventures which I don't quite understand. I've seen her pick around fifteen four leaf clovers in less than twenty minutes. I've had crazy hipsters come up to us and start talking about Diana Ross while we backed away slowly, not making eye contact. And I've had semi homeless men showing us their DVD collections on the bus.
And this has all happened in the last month or so.
But there was a real interesting one last week.
We were hanging out with her roommate, who was trying to buy a birthday present for a gay friend of his. Naturally, we went to a sex shop on Douglas Street. Happy Apple and I kind of just browsed nonchalantly while her roommate excitedly went from shelf to shelf, talking about dildoes. Which was funny to listen to, because he was talking about sex toys in the exact same way some men talk about cars, or sports, or, say, guitars.
I didn't know it, but there's a lot that goes into making dildoes, and there's a lot that seperates them. I kind of just figured you made it about eight inches long, painted it black, and called it a day. But nope. There's a lot more to it than that, apparently.
Happy Apple and I just looked at post cards and made oral sex jokes. Because that's how we roll. We're very much WASPs, and that means being slightly uncomfortable around anal beads. So we make jokes.
Anyways, we were chatting with the owner, and had finished making our purchases (I bought a few postcards with the Beatles on them - nothing kinky!), when the door opened and this guy stepped in carrying around twenty bags. He had a shaven head and cratered skin, and looked for all intents and purposes like an extra from Trainspotting. He was kind of twitchy, and he walked over to the BDSM stuff and started breathing heavily while looking at whips and face masks. Real heavily.
The three of us were about to leave. "Please stay around for a few minutes" the woman asked us really quietly, fear in her eyes.
Happy Apple and her roommate left anyway. I had to chase them down, and after only about two seconds, we realized they hadn't heard her. But we all agreed it was the right thing to do to go back there and keep this woman company while Cracky McGee got all asthmatic over leather panties. It was like one of the last scenes from The Magnificent Seven, where they decide to go back into the town and blow shit up. Only, um, there were three of us instead of seven. And we weren't going back to a gunfight that would kill us all. And we weren't cowboys.
Okay, it was nothing like the Magnificent Seven. Shut up.
When we steped back in, he was wandering over the store, breathing heavily and getting more and more agitated. Happy Apple and I started rummaging through a sex book written by Mel from Flight of the Conchords (!?), while I found myself wondering what the hell I'd do if he started tweaking out or something. I think my plan was something like "throw that butt plug at his face and run" or something to that effect.
He continued to wander, tweaked out on godknowswhat. And then, after realizing we were not leaving, he scowled at us, grabbed his bajillion bags, and left. The owner came over and thanked us profusely, saying how magnificent theseven three of us were for sticking around.
Then we spent a few minutes talking about how Victoria is getting steadily weirder. I have to say, a sex shop that has a penny-candy style set up filled with flavoured and coloured condoms is an odd place to have a "the world is getting crazier" conversation. It's be like listening to punk rock at a tea party - there is no real reason why it shouldn't happen, but one could imagine it's not a frequent occurence.
I think, pretty soon, the city is going to be filled entirely with homeless people and drug addicts. I'm not sure, realistically, how this could happen, but it seems to be on the horizon. It'll be like Mad Max... only without the anti-semites.
Happy Apple shrugged the entire event off, and only an hour later she had almost completely forgotten about it until I reminded her just how strange it had all been. I think she's developed a tolerance for strangeness. Which makes me wonder:
What does that say about me?
And this has all happened in the last month or so.
But there was a real interesting one last week.
We were hanging out with her roommate, who was trying to buy a birthday present for a gay friend of his. Naturally, we went to a sex shop on Douglas Street. Happy Apple and I kind of just browsed nonchalantly while her roommate excitedly went from shelf to shelf, talking about dildoes. Which was funny to listen to, because he was talking about sex toys in the exact same way some men talk about cars, or sports, or, say, guitars.
I didn't know it, but there's a lot that goes into making dildoes, and there's a lot that seperates them. I kind of just figured you made it about eight inches long, painted it black, and called it a day. But nope. There's a lot more to it than that, apparently.
Happy Apple and I just looked at post cards and made oral sex jokes. Because that's how we roll. We're very much WASPs, and that means being slightly uncomfortable around anal beads. So we make jokes.
Anyways, we were chatting with the owner, and had finished making our purchases (I bought a few postcards with the Beatles on them - nothing kinky!), when the door opened and this guy stepped in carrying around twenty bags. He had a shaven head and cratered skin, and looked for all intents and purposes like an extra from Trainspotting. He was kind of twitchy, and he walked over to the BDSM stuff and started breathing heavily while looking at whips and face masks. Real heavily.
The three of us were about to leave. "Please stay around for a few minutes" the woman asked us really quietly, fear in her eyes.
Happy Apple and her roommate left anyway. I had to chase them down, and after only about two seconds, we realized they hadn't heard her. But we all agreed it was the right thing to do to go back there and keep this woman company while Cracky McGee got all asthmatic over leather panties. It was like one of the last scenes from The Magnificent Seven, where they decide to go back into the town and blow shit up. Only, um, there were three of us instead of seven. And we weren't going back to a gunfight that would kill us all. And we weren't cowboys.
Okay, it was nothing like the Magnificent Seven. Shut up.
When we steped back in, he was wandering over the store, breathing heavily and getting more and more agitated. Happy Apple and I started rummaging through a sex book written by Mel from Flight of the Conchords (!?), while I found myself wondering what the hell I'd do if he started tweaking out or something. I think my plan was something like "throw that butt plug at his face and run" or something to that effect.
He continued to wander, tweaked out on godknowswhat. And then, after realizing we were not leaving, he scowled at us, grabbed his bajillion bags, and left. The owner came over and thanked us profusely, saying how magnificent the
Then we spent a few minutes talking about how Victoria is getting steadily weirder. I have to say, a sex shop that has a penny-candy style set up filled with flavoured and coloured condoms is an odd place to have a "the world is getting crazier" conversation. It's be like listening to punk rock at a tea party - there is no real reason why it shouldn't happen, but one could imagine it's not a frequent occurence.
I think, pretty soon, the city is going to be filled entirely with homeless people and drug addicts. I'm not sure, realistically, how this could happen, but it seems to be on the horizon. It'll be like Mad Max... only without the anti-semites.
Happy Apple shrugged the entire event off, and only an hour later she had almost completely forgotten about it until I reminded her just how strange it had all been. I think she's developed a tolerance for strangeness. Which makes me wonder:
What does that say about me?
Overheard by Mayfair Mall:
Two teenage girls, waiting for the bus on wednesday afternoon. They were making their way through a huge snowdrift.
GIRL #1: I'm going to see Tom tonight, and we're gonna smoke a huge fatty.
GIRL #2: Sweet.
GIRL #1: He's made a bong out of a snowball, and we're going to smoke it out of that.
GIRL #2: Out of a snowball? How does that work?
GIRL #1: Haven't you ever smoked out of an apple core?
GIRL #2: (embarrassed) Yeah. Of course. Lots of times.
GIRL #1: Well, it's like that. Only, snow.
GIRL #2: Have you done it before?
GIRL #1: Well, no. But Tom has. At least, he said he did. And why would you lie about a thing like that?
GIRL #1: I'm going to see Tom tonight, and we're gonna smoke a huge fatty.
GIRL #2: Sweet.
GIRL #1: He's made a bong out of a snowball, and we're going to smoke it out of that.
GIRL #2: Out of a snowball? How does that work?
GIRL #1: Haven't you ever smoked out of an apple core?
GIRL #2: (embarrassed) Yeah. Of course. Lots of times.
GIRL #1: Well, it's like that. Only, snow.
GIRL #2: Have you done it before?
GIRL #1: Well, no. But Tom has. At least, he said he did. And why would you lie about a thing like that?
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