I usually loath the crotch melting heat waves that emanate from my lap top, but right now I'm so into them. My room is an ice box. Where the hell did spring go, and why did winter return with her bitter, whorish touch for one last cold, cruel embrace? Get outta here winter, I'm so done with you.
At least my crotch is sufficiently warm.
Tonight, around 1 am I ate at Cafe West. For those of you who aren't part of the scene, that would be the Provo hospital cafeteria. It's open 24 hours and they serve up one hell of a foot long corn dog. Everything there is super cheap. Except for the BBQ sauce. God forbid they give that stuff away. 25 cents a pop. Get out.
Cafe West is always an interesting adventure. I have never been there before 11 pm, and I have also never bitten into a corn dog without being surrounded by at least 7 people with whom I did not arrive wearing skinny jeans and scarves. For whatever reason, Cafe West seems to be the preferred indie/hipster/scenester/whatever you prefer to call them, post midnight place to be.
About 50 percent of the time, at some point in the evening the noise level rises above what is apparently acceptable for a hospital cafeteria. At which point a hospital rent-a-cop enters with his hand poised near his yellow taser pistol, ready to zap the shit out of any unruly pretentious asshole in a V-neck who might dare challenge his authority. Then, in a voice bordering on irrationality, the rent-a-cop yells "Hey! Listen! This is a hospital cafeteria. There are patients and people dying in here. (presumably he does not mean there are people specifically dying in the cafeteria. If he does, I've yet to see them.) There are families visiting sick people. If you can't be quieter, I'm going to have to kick you out. This is a hospital cafeteria." At which point, it gets all quiet and awkward for about 3 minutes. Then, having forgotten the awkward "You-are-disrupting-people-several-floors-up-and-multiple-walls-away" speech, due to the distracting nature of the succulent tube steak wrapped in deep fried corn bread, conversation picks up again and it's business as usual.
I usually try to leave at that point, as I feel awkward getting yelled at like that. It takes me back to high school drivers ed course, when Mr. Sperry, one of the most quiet and soft spoken councilors to work at that school, totally lost it. And I mean LOST IT. I went to high school with a lot of pricks. Lots of redneck cowboys who harassed their fellow students, and who showed little respect for teachers. One night there were a couple of the aforementioned a-holes chatting all throughout the driver's ed class. Finally, with about half an hour left, Mr. Sperry just blew up. His face turned purple as he screamed about an inch from Kenneth Winn's ear, after irrationally knocking poor Ken's hat off of his head. It was horrifying. Try going back to explaining 4 way stop etiquette after that with any dignity.
This is what I picture whenever that cop comes in yelling, as though we were a bunch of unruly teenagers. That's when you know it's time to just pound that corn dog and get the hell out.
I guess my point is...if you are a loud mouth, please stay away from Cafe West and allow me to finish my corn dog in quiet dignity.