Just Call Me Tater

I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable person. And being a reasonable person I fully realize and accept that there could be some people who would argue that I am not reasonable at all. That's totally fine with me.  Yet, there comes a time when even the most reasonable of people simply break. And, this morning, simply put, I had had it with selfish, self-absorbed assholes.

It's Thursday. And on Thursday mornings I have to abandon my studio because the wonderfully heroic people who clean my home arrive at nine.  Since I cannot bear to sit in the same house where someone is scrubbing my toilet, I usually walk over to Chloe's because everything about my existence revolves around being a close partner with routine or deliberately breaking all deals with routine.   I need only a semblance of order and my life continues without pain or suffering to self or others.

And I usually feel warm and welcome but rarely hassled at Chloe's.  Even when newbies insist on chatting me up about something, there are typically enough friendlies to rodeo-clown them fools until I can get some headphones on. It's two hours of my week.

I was already flummoxed because as I walked the two blocks to Chloe's I become mildly distracted by a visual production situation.  There were catering tents, motor coaches, remote power trucks, a lot of brighter-than-daylight ultra white lighting, and assorted other production equipment everywhere; truckloads of equipment driven in from NYC, ostensibly.  Fortunately a couple of the tech crew professionals saw me walking up the block where I live and actually moved shit out of the way (Moses + Red Sea style).  In fact, they were very nice with morning greetings and all. 

Very bright lights everywhere.

So I got to Chloe's unscathed.  This is important because anyone who knows me knows how sensitive I can get when I'm in work mode.  But when I went to my usual zone in the back of Chloe's (despite the outstanding job Rosa Parks did) there was this couple sitting there--sitting unusually close to each other.  In fact, they were literally gazing into each other's eyes. OK.

As I unloaded some of my equipment from my pack, they exchanged excited whispers, hugs, touches, loving kisses, secret giggles, and more fucking gazing into each other's eyes. But, these were grown-ass adults.  The dude was in a suit.  The woman was dressed for office working as well.  I am estimating that they were in their 30's.  The fuck?  I could give 17 year-olds a pass but these two were so consumed by their own secret gardens that everyone felt several percentage points more homicidal.  Shit, event the Do-Gooder Socialist Klan would've been absolutely un-PC about this shit.

I figured that once I sat within three feet of them with all my computing and production equipment they would, you know, act like adults.  I'm not suggesting that these star-crossed lovers should erect a firewall made of bibles between them, but, you know, reasonable adults don't act like truggats.  I couldn't even bring myself to take a photograph of them, they so fully disgusted me.  But I did get Emily and David to approximate afterward.  Just add business-friendly attire and about ten years (switch races, but that's not important).

David and Emily re-enact some star-crossed gazing.

Here's the rub. They were both wearing wedding rings. So either they were on the most desperate extended honeymoon ever, someone was terminally ill, or they were fucking around.  So what?  I don't fucking care.  That's none of my business, but when they literally made-out Frenchie-like right there in my field of vision, where an occasional tongue would appear and have to listen to that shit in a coffee shop at 9:05 a.m. it sickened me. Grow the fuck up!  Quit imposing your madness on everybody else.  I would have been less annoyed if they were smoking cigars in an elevator with me.

So at 9:21 a.m. after the non-stop eyeball gazing, ardent whispering, childlike giggling, and tongue kissing, I lost my shit and...


After a brief awkward silence, they quietly and quickly--without any eye contact with anyone--departed.  Me? I got a standing ovation and pats on the back.  I apologized to David for yelling at his customers but he thanked me in all sincerity.  Apparently those two had been as self-absorbingly engaged since 8:15 or so and everyone who had been through had vomited just a little bit because of it.

Seriously, people.  Why do I always have to be the jerk because you can't control yourselves?

Call me Tater. As in: Ty + hater = Tater*

* "Tater" courtesy of Irish Pat.