Up at the lake
So call me crazy, but I love gray days. It's one of those where I am, cool and windy, windy enough to put little whitecaps on the lake. I'm up here in infamous Detroit Lakes, MN, home of the even-famouser Main Street Cafe and the Sunflower Coffee Shop, at which latter I now sit, and which is itself home to the single—please forgive me—dumbest girls who've ever tried to pour a cup of coffee. They're lovely, they really are. But. I am now working on a cup of coffee that I procured through the following exchange:
Me: Can I get a large coffee, half decaf and half light roast?
[I cringed the minute I said it. That's an incredibly complicated order hereabouts.]
She: [looks at the price list very carefully, running her finger up and down.]
Me [feeling helpful]: You want to just charge me for a large coffee.
She: Oh. Ok. [Pauses.] What kind did you want?
Me: Half decaf and half regular. [Forget light roast. That will only confuse things.]
She: [Pours decaf into the cup. Decaf runs out. She stops, stumped, and thinks this over. Finally, she goes over to the coffee maker and starts making a new pot of coffee.]
Me: Um. Could you go ahead and fill the cup before you make coffee?
She: But the decaf ran out.
Me: That's ok. Just fill it with a different kind.
She: But it's not decaf.
Me: S'ok. Not a big deal.
She: [Totally paralyzed.]
[Another girl comes over]: Are you waiting for something?
Me [pointing]: Could you fill that cup up? And give it to me?
She: What do you want in it?
Me: Coffee. Whatever. Just some coffee.
[She fills it up. Sets it in front of me. Carefully reads the price list.]
Me: Large coffee. $1.75.
She [keeps looking at the price list]
I [give her two dollars]
She [looks at it in confusion. Picks it up. Stares at the cash register.]
Me: You want to give me a quarter back.
She: I don't know what the price code is.
Me [gently]: Ok. Well. There's two dollars. I'm going to take the coffee. You go ahead and figure out the price code.
She [Totally paralyzed.]
[Meanwhile, the original one is trying to figure out how to put coffee in the filter.]
Me: Ok! Thanks!
[exeunt]
...So I trudged back over here to my table, which I have turned into a small office, as I'm here for the day to work. Today's project was a short article for a new theater magazine. (I'll post the link when it comes out.) I'm hugely excited about this magazine, and it's SUCH a treat to be writing about theater again. I haven't done so in several years--Madness took all my time for the last few, and I've been AWOL from journalism and the like. Feels great to be back at it. Next up today: reviewing material for an article I'm writing for--get this--a magazine called Law & Politics. Little known fact: I like law and politics. Back a million years ago, I had every intention of becoming a political reporter--was studying poli sci to do so, working at a wire service covering the 1992 (that's how old I am, kids) presidential election (Clinton v. Bush Sr.). (Speaking of elections--how's THIS one for pretty damn fascinating?? Never in a million years could anyone have said in 1992 that American politics would take this wild ride and wind up here.) So now I'm writing an article about legal ethics. TOTALLY fun. Meanwhile (at the same time--it just got extremely busy) I'm about to start an article on painter Megan Rye (known to some of you from Madness), which will be a riot to write. I get to go spend a couple of days in her studio picking her brain and listening to her talk about how she does the magic she does. If you haven't seen her work, go to her link on my Links page. Speaking of those links--Trockman and I just did a new shoot for an article running in BP Magazine, and he'll have some new photos up on trockstock.com soon. I'll post the link to that article asap.
I confess: I gave up on Best American Poetry 2007. I feel horribly guilty about it. But after I threw it across the room, I did a few calming breathing exercises and decided in a very Zen-like fashion that I was not, in fact, going to attempt to read it further. (Also, I had to use it to pick up a bat. A flying-around-my-office-in-the-dark kind of bat. Long story. I injured the bat. And am totally never going to get over it.)
All right, ladies & gentleman, I've got to get back to work. Just a friendly reminder to people who are kind enough to write to me: due to volume, I can't answer every letter personally, and I'm afraid I just can't strike up personal correspondences. Please remember, also, that I'm just a writer, and any mental health concerns you have should be directed to a professional.
Cheers to all!
Marya
Me: Can I get a large coffee, half decaf and half light roast?
[I cringed the minute I said it. That's an incredibly complicated order hereabouts.]
She: [looks at the price list very carefully, running her finger up and down.]
Me [feeling helpful]: You want to just charge me for a large coffee.
She: Oh. Ok. [Pauses.] What kind did you want?
Me: Half decaf and half regular. [Forget light roast. That will only confuse things.]
She: [Pours decaf into the cup. Decaf runs out. She stops, stumped, and thinks this over. Finally, she goes over to the coffee maker and starts making a new pot of coffee.]
Me: Um. Could you go ahead and fill the cup before you make coffee?
She: But the decaf ran out.
Me: That's ok. Just fill it with a different kind.
She: But it's not decaf.
Me: S'ok. Not a big deal.
She: [Totally paralyzed.]
[Another girl comes over]: Are you waiting for something?
Me [pointing]: Could you fill that cup up? And give it to me?
She: What do you want in it?
Me: Coffee. Whatever. Just some coffee.
[She fills it up. Sets it in front of me. Carefully reads the price list.]
Me: Large coffee. $1.75.
She [keeps looking at the price list]
I [give her two dollars]
She [looks at it in confusion. Picks it up. Stares at the cash register.]
Me: You want to give me a quarter back.
She: I don't know what the price code is.
Me [gently]: Ok. Well. There's two dollars. I'm going to take the coffee. You go ahead and figure out the price code.
She [Totally paralyzed.]
[Meanwhile, the original one is trying to figure out how to put coffee in the filter.]
Me: Ok! Thanks!
[exeunt]
...So I trudged back over here to my table, which I have turned into a small office, as I'm here for the day to work. Today's project was a short article for a new theater magazine. (I'll post the link when it comes out.) I'm hugely excited about this magazine, and it's SUCH a treat to be writing about theater again. I haven't done so in several years--Madness took all my time for the last few, and I've been AWOL from journalism and the like. Feels great to be back at it. Next up today: reviewing material for an article I'm writing for--get this--a magazine called Law & Politics. Little known fact: I like law and politics. Back a million years ago, I had every intention of becoming a political reporter--was studying poli sci to do so, working at a wire service covering the 1992 (that's how old I am, kids) presidential election (Clinton v. Bush Sr.). (Speaking of elections--how's THIS one for pretty damn fascinating?? Never in a million years could anyone have said in 1992 that American politics would take this wild ride and wind up here.) So now I'm writing an article about legal ethics. TOTALLY fun. Meanwhile (at the same time--it just got extremely busy) I'm about to start an article on painter Megan Rye (known to some of you from Madness), which will be a riot to write. I get to go spend a couple of days in her studio picking her brain and listening to her talk about how she does the magic she does. If you haven't seen her work, go to her link on my Links page. Speaking of those links--Trockman and I just did a new shoot for an article running in BP Magazine, and he'll have some new photos up on trockstock.com soon. I'll post the link to that article asap.
I confess: I gave up on Best American Poetry 2007. I feel horribly guilty about it. But after I threw it across the room, I did a few calming breathing exercises and decided in a very Zen-like fashion that I was not, in fact, going to attempt to read it further. (Also, I had to use it to pick up a bat. A flying-around-my-office-in-the-dark kind of bat. Long story. I injured the bat. And am totally never going to get over it.)
All right, ladies & gentleman, I've got to get back to work. Just a friendly reminder to people who are kind enough to write to me: due to volume, I can't answer every letter personally, and I'm afraid I just can't strike up personal correspondences. Please remember, also, that I'm just a writer, and any mental health concerns you have should be directed to a professional.
Cheers to all!
Marya
Comments