I'm checking out my favorite double-fried old fashioned doughnut with the dark chocolate frosting in the pastry display case when I first notice the anxious strain in the voice of the woman in front of me. She's just turning down the slightly stout barista's offer of her usual americano, her voice trailing off lamely as she explains, "I saw a woman who had like a cup with all this whip cream, and I thought ... I need ... to have one of those..."
The barista, black beard and black clothes with one tasteful tattoo on his right forearm, busies himself with the espresso machine. After a pause, he offers, "How's your day going so far?"
"Well, I just woke up actually, so I'm just like going to work now, so... my day's, I guess, not really going yet..." She fusses with her purposefully mussed-up hair. "I was on this date last night," she states. "With this guy I used to talk to all the time when he worked at Whole Foods." Just like we talk, every day - shit, but don't think I actually like the Whole Foods guy: "But it was like a total clusterfuck. Yeah, I thought he was cool when he worked at Whole Foods, but you know, it turns out he's a total douchebag."
The barista is staring out the window over the top of the machine as he pounds the ground espresso and locks it into place to pull. He looks down briefly as he shifts to start steaming the milk. "Where'd you go?" he finally says.
She leans into the counter, as if invading his personal barista space will force him to turn around, and takes out her lime-green wallet. "To [somplace]. I mean, he just talked about himself all night, like for 3 hours." She pauses. "It was a total clusterfuck," just so we're clear.
"Maybe he was nervous." He shakes the whip cream cannister as if whipping it by brute force.
"Oh, yeah, maybe... But whenever I tried to say anything he'd just interrupt again..."
The barista waits several beats before capitulating. "I'm sure he was a tool," he offers as he swipes her credit card.
"Yeah," her voice sounds relieved, "it turns out he's, like, a super-famous Feist fan." Air quotes and forced giggle.
"What does that mean?" More interested, but still avoiding her eye as he slides her the credit card receipt and pen across the counter. "'If you check out issue 52 of the Feist Fanzine, bottom of page 4, you'll see my latest piece'?"
She giggles again, "I know!" Her hand trembles as she signs.
"Later." "Later." And she leaves, unrequited crush.
I love those little Portland-y moments! It's hard to describe to other people why Portland is so special. I can't imagine trying to explain it to/in Dutch!
ReplyDeleteI wrestle with it a little... the Portland experience. It's changed a lot since we were kids hanging around downtown (no Big Bang Warehouse, no Ozone), but in some ways I guess it's better. The St. Mary's girls probably don't see people getting mugged in the bus mall.
On the other hand... I feel like Portland has gotten wussier. I like the way you described the exchange between patron and barista. I think in an earlier age, it would have taken place at a Coffee People and he would have had a second job as a bike-messenger and she would have been a part-time stripper.
I'd bet money that both the people you saw went to school for graphic designer and they've dabbled in veganism, ya know? Then again, who am I to judge?
Maybe it's time for me to strap on my Doc Marten's, move back to Portland and start mugging people in the bus mall... for old time's sake.
This woman was definitely not a stripper. I think your bet is a safe one: I'm going with a part-time graphic designer for a web start up. As for him, in an earlier time, he would have been tall and skinny with knobbly elbows and more prominent body piercings. And a neck tattoo. Sometimes new Portland feels so antiseptic...
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