The Morning Commute

Wear huge warm grey girly overcoat. Look fashionable. Feel retarded when you walk by people wearing T shirt and Jeans. The snow can’t come soon enough. 

Get to Redmond. Decide I want different Starbucks today. One I go to doesn’t have comfy chairs. Drive to other close different Starbucks. No parking. I attempt a tight parallel street park and scrape the rear left bumper of a shining grey Camry. Fuck. I get out and examine it. There’s a small green imprint where I cut in. Nobody saw me do it. Odds are they come back and don’t notice, I don’t inspect my car every time I get in, but with my green piece of shit parked directly behind him it won’t be hard to deduce what happened. If he has any kind of camera I’m fucked. They find my license and make me pay $40,000 or whatever it costs to leave a small imprint on somebody’s shiny new car. Sigh. I get in and shimmy my way out of that spot and drive away. 

I still need coffee. I won’t give up. I drive around a bit until I see a promising parking lot and a different swanky coffee shop and think: “this works too.” I go in, observe the menu, they’ve got some interesting stuff. No prices. Should’ve been a red flag. I get a latte and a breakfast sandwich and it comes out to $18. I wanted to say: Really? Fuck you. But I didn’t, because I don’t have the time. I need to start writing already. Because if not then I got up at 7 AM for nothing.  

To be fair, the coffee and sandwich are pretty good. But $18? Kill yourself. I will know now: if they don’t have prices on the wall, your bank account is destined for a fall. Ancient Chinese wisdom.