Saturday, November 10, 2018

There's A Limit

The alarm on my phone sounds at 6 AM. I wake up tilted back in the front seat of my car parked behind a coffee shop. It takes a minute to realize where I am. Sometimes I work a night job and, in order to maximize the opportunity for sleep, I catch an hour or two in the car before my day job. Need to brush my teeth. Need coffee.

The covered dump truck tips it's daily load of the fentanyl overdosed into the incinerator. The driver gives me a two finger salute. Waving, I turn the corner tucking in my wrinkled shirt.

It's still dark, but the front of the store is lit by blue police lights. The SWAT van is parked in the coffee shop entrance. I squeeze inside. The morning rush hasn't started yet, thank God.

Three black people - a man, woman and child, dressed for school - are on the floor with their fingers interlaced behind their heads. The SWAT team, in helmets and body armor, have their weapons trained on them. One officer is placing zip-tie handcuffs on the child.

There's a small line of people waiting for customized lattes scrolling through their phones. One or two are drowsily recording the interaction, another is taking a selfie with the cops and the unhappy family as a backdrop.

"Go-od morning" I say hopscotching over the family - one, two, three - with a twirl at the end that makes the cops snicker. " I appreciate ya".

I'm standing in the line and the joker in front of me orders "a large, regular coffee". The place gets deadly quiet. All eyes fall hard on the customer. I'm close to hitting him - fucking idiot. The staff refuse to serve him.

Bravo! I yell, clapping loudly six inches from his ear. The others join me in righteous applause. Some throw balled napkins at his back as he stumbles out in shame.

Outrageous.

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