So an oily fellow with a pencil-thin mustache came into Boheme the other day.
Remember the scene in “Singin’ in the Rain” where they demonstrate a “talking picture” to all the partygoers at R.F.’s house and the man on the screen looks into the camera rather haplessly and drones, “This is a picture and I am talking to yooou,” or something like that? Remember that guy? Well, so, this guy at Boheme looked exactly like him. I thought it was him. All raised from the dead and such, I guess.
Anyhoo.
He sidles on up to the counter and sort of croons at me, “So …. what do you have in a dark roast today?”
“Well, I have an Italian Roast.”
“Ohhhhh,” he murmurs, “is that where a bunch of people get together and make fun of Italians?”
He chuckles smugly at himself. Mutters a few words of it again. Seems to be filing it all away for later when he can regale his friends with his “bon mot at the coffeehouse today, hahahahaha!”
And I just stand there and stare at him. At the countertop. I literally do not move a muscle on my face. Because, really, there’s no helping him out of this — this moment he’s created, so I just let it lie … and lie … and lie. I am basically frozen in the face of this rogue wave of self-satisfaction, just waiting for it to pass — as it should. And quickly, too, one hopes.
But he has to fill the space, so he announces — actually ANNOUNCES — after my moment of sensible silence: “I’m a member of Who’s Who in International Poetry.”
Oh.
Okaaay.
Wow.
Uhm.
So.
Where is Carla the Intuitive Clairvoyant when I need her to tell me things??
SHUT.
UP.
Wow. Does he start every conversation that way? How… grand of him. Ohhhh, to be a fly on the wall in that guy’s house. Wait. No. On the wall at your coffeehouse. I couldn’t stand that guy. Even in the short lifespan of a fly.
I love the title of this post.
Wait a minute–nobody’s a member of ANY “Who’s Who.” They send you a scam form letter saying you’ve been chosen to appear in their book, and if you want a copy of the book to show off to your friends (who would at least politely laugh at your lame coffee joke), send them cash.
If he was trying to get a free danish out of someone easily impressed, he picked the wrong beanery. Tracey does crosswords so she’s smart!
What Kate said.
I get those things all the time: Who’s Who in American Women in Science, Who’s Who in Biology, etc., etc.
I have a colleague who actually falls for them and who actually listed his “membership” in his tenure packet.
(I didn’t have the heart to tell him and destroy the little self-esteem house of cards he had built there).
I also wonder if Mr. Italian Roast stood there in the coffeehouse, thinking to himself smugly, “I am SO blogging this!” about his bon mot. It almost might be worth doing a Google search on the phrase to see if dude has a blog, because that kind of smug reaction to something said or done is, well, honestly, something I recognize in myself when I have an “I am so blogging this!” moment.
However, I do not make stupid random jokes to hardworking people in the service industry when they have just answered a question. (And wait a minute – did dude just ask the question so he could make his silly response? What a tool.)
HA!!!
You makin’ fun of me? Are you… makin’ fun of me? Do I amuse you?
1) Am I the only one who thought his terrible little joke was a tad funny? I mean, I chuckled. I did. I don’t apologize. But then, I’m a pun lover. I’m a member of Who’s Who in International Pun Loving.
2) That guy is a total terd. And I love that you totally laid out on the moment. And I LOVE the announcement of the Who’s Who.
Holy crap. A spider has apparently taken up residence in my chandelier and is making a web. This since yesterday. I’m so blogging this. And then I’m so yelling and waking up my husband to take care of the problem.