Coffee Shop Awkwardness

Note: I wrote this to read on stage at the So You Think You Can Funny: A Comedy Cavalcade event, a monthly gathering associated with the Writers of Central Florida or Thereabouts. 

I hang out in coffee shops. Not the hipster kind of coffee shop hanging-out. I actually go to get work done. Not just to try to appear cool and make others nauseatingly aware of the fact that I haven’t bathed recently.

It may go without saying, but skinny jeans and man buns aren’t my style. And what is up with this out of control facial hair?

What’s the message there?

“I’m super cool cuz I stopped investing in razor blades…”  ??

“Oh yeah, man, I helped thwart Gillette in their quest for world domination…”  ??

I have news for you guys. ZZ Top already did that whole thing, ok? Way before the sexual rendezvous of your unfortunate parents produced the zygote that resulted in you.

Jesus Christ. (disgusted)

Why not find a new way to rebel? Become a soap and deodorant connoisseur. Or just eat some fucking food and wear regular jeans like normal people.

Ooooh. Your furry friends won’t know what to think.

(pause)

Anyways…

I hang out in coffee shops. The experiences vary. Sometimes you make awkward eye contact with random people. Sometimes you just awkwardly avoid it. But… sometimes… you have a meaningful interaction. Something just… clicks.

Recently, there was a gal at the table next to me. Of course, we each had headphones on, and we were busy typing away at shit on our laptops, but we were both kind of ready for a break at the same time. You know… that moment when you have to unplug, and stretch, and look around. Maybe get up and pee.

I don’t recall who said what first, but we started talking. And… it was really easy. Maybe because I didn’t think anything of it. I was just… me. When I don’t try, the odd lines come naturally.

She asked what I did for work. I’ve learned that, when I tell people I teach online classes, and I’m a writer, they think I’m making that shit up. So, now… I just make shit up.

“Well, “ I said, “I have a backhoe and a wood chipper. So I was pulling and grinding tree stumps. But it turned into a lucrative side venture disposing of bodies.”

(pause)

She didn’t laugh either.

She told me she was a lawyer, and I said, “Oh Jesus, I’m sorry.”

She did laugh at that.

“Actually, I enjoy it,” she said.

“That’s cool,” I said. “Life is much better when you like your job.”

There was an awkward pause, and I said, “I’m sorry. I just… kind of… throw shit out there sometimes.”

“Oh no, don’t apologize. It’s hard to find guys that are… honest. Honesty is really important to me.”

I said, “I can’t believe you have a hard time finding guys.”

She looked shy for a second, and she said, “Well, I am kinda… in a relationship. What about you?”

“Well, yeah… I kinda… I masturbate a lot.”

I learned two things immediately.

First, don’t be quite so forthcoming right after someone takes a giant sip of hot coffee.

Second... maybe that’s not the kind of honesty she had in mind.

She dabbed with a napkin. Then another. Then another. She snorted a lot of coffee, apparently. I apologized again.

“Oh no, “she said. “It’s my fault… You’re kinda funny.”

Hmm. Kinda funny. What did that mean? It could be a good thing. Like… kinda smart. Or… kinda cute. Or it could be a bad thing. Like… kind of an asshole.

Hmm. Kinda funny. Kinda funny? I didn’t know what to make of it. I really felt like we had a connection, you know? Something that should be explored. But I’ve been wrong about that before. Actually, I’m wrong… most of the time.

I just have a hard time recognizing social signals. Maybe I was overly optimistic. Or maybe just delusional. But I thought I felt something.

As all this was racing through my mind, she announced that it was time to leave.

Oh shit.

I don’t think I said that out loud. But I might have.

On the verge of panic, I took a breath and said, “Yeah… me too.”

I actually sounded calm.

I packed my shit and followed her out the door. Not quite like a pathetic puppy dog, but… pretty much like a pathetic puppy dog. I watched her get into her car. She drove one of those Fiat 500 things. It’s like something a modern Fred Flintstone would drive, but there’s not even enough room to stick your feet out through the floorboard.

I couldn’t help myself, I said, “You drive a gumball machine! What do you do? Put a quarter in a slot to turn the door handle?”

I guess she was already getting used to my comments. She laughed, closed the door and dropped the window as she started the car.

“You’re funny,” she said.

Hmm. Not kindafunny. Not kind of an asshole. Funny.

I gave her my business card. I didn’t know what else to do.

She looked at it and said, “Hi Brian. I’m Cindy.”

Hmm. Cindy. Cinnndy. The first syllable of her name was… sin. My mind raced. She backed out and pulled away.

Days went by. After many other awkward coffee shop moments, I’d forgotten about her.  Then… my phone rang.  A number I didn’t recognize. I usually don’t answer those calls, but, this time, I did.

“Hello,” I said.

A cute female voice said, “Brian? This is Cindy.”

Hmm. Cinnnndy.

I stuttered., “Hi… Cindy… I… I didn’t think you’d call.”

She laughed.

“Neither did I,” she said.

There was a long pause.

Finally, I said, “What do we do now?’

“I don’t know,” she said.

But she didn’t sound awkward. Just… calm. And… happy.

So I said, “Want to get a cup of coffee?”