Bringing the New York.
I do a good portion of my writing at a coffee shop near my home. I
love it there; the lattes are hot, the muffins are fluffy, the staff is
nice (and more calm than any coffee staff I've ever come across...they
must not drink too much of their own product), and the atmosphere is
strangely condusive to my creative process (circus at times, graveyard
at others...just like my brain). The customers are even a strangely
endearing bunch of folks; I see a lot of the same people day after day,
and we exchange smiles and greetings if we happen to be standing in
line together, or sitting at side-by-side tables. There's really only
one guy I've seen who seems to violate the relative (there's a lot of
caffeine flowing here, bear in mind, so peace is not always the order
of the day) harmony of the whole place, and I like to refer to him as:
DRAMA GUY!
He's probably in his mid-thirties, just over 6ft, average-to-strong
build. His attire is highly variable, and consists of anything from
sweatpants and a trenchcoat, to a full business suit and cowboy boots.
His cheeks are usually aflame with intensity, and perpetually unshaven.
Sometimes a soul patch will appear, or a random set of sideburns, but
ardent stubble is the norm. The locks atop his head are either tousled
stylishly, or shoved beneath a beanie or fedora (!) of some kind. He
looks like the kind of guy who spends a lot of time thinking about how
he looks, but would die if anyone accused him of such a thing.
By far, his most defining features are his giant brown eyes. They
exist a good two inches outside of their sockets at all times, and look
something like this:
He rolls them about in his head like die in the hands of a Vegas
gambler, endlessly buffeting them with powerful waves of exasperation
and exuberance. These notable orbs, combined with the frenetic activity
of his meaty, air-thrashing man-hands, make him appear perpetually
high, or at the very least, deeply agitated.
His body language is huge, his voice booms like the very most bass
of cathedral bells, and he never comes or goes without leaving a
smoke-and-aftershave-scented breeze in his wake.
His general appearance and demeanor would be enough to classify him
as dramatic in my books, but his true impact lies in his relational
behaviours. How would I know? Well, let's just say...you can't look
away. You can't ignore it. He is an emotional trainwreck, and I am more
than guilty of rubbernecking.
The first time I noticed him, he was sitting at the table next to
me, gesticulating wildly at someone on the other end of a cell phone.
He was chatting up (I was not eavesdropping...it's like Dolby Surround
being near this man) a show or a premiere that he was launching in the
immediate future. I have no idea what involvement he had in the
production, but he might not have known, either. Regardless, the most
notable phrase I can recall from the exchange was, "There really hasn't
been anything like this around here. This is New York, man. I am
bringing the New York."
Maybe it was my eyes that were rolling at this point. But I digress.
He was soon joined by a woman who looked to be 22ish. She had long,
dark, uberhighlighted brown hair, sunglasses perched atop her head, an
anime face, and a reedy frame (enclosed in a turtleneck sweater that
appeared to be eating her alive). She sat down across from him,
shuffling papers and prying open a laptop while he continued to bellow
"New York!" at his friend on the phone. When he finally hung up, they
launched full-speed-ahead into a business meeting of sorts, during
which I learned the following: she was responsible for "everything! why
do I have to do everything!"; he "didn't have time to babysit her"; and
his latte was cold, since he'd had to wait for her "forever". He then
leapt up to get a new one, while she fumed in her seat. Upon his (too
quick) return, he began to discuss some photocopying she'd neglected to
do, and how little time he had to 'pick up her slack'. In the midst of
flailing his arms wide to indicate the size of his current 'workload',
he sent his drink flying onto the keyboard of her laptop.
Uh oh.
What ensued was actually the very set of events that gained him his
nickname. In the space of the next half hour, he did the following:
*forgot to apologize for trashing her laptop.
*dabbed ineffectually and lasciviously at her sweater with a latte-sodden napkin.
*asked the coffee staff for a new drink, "since I'm ALWAYS here..."
*watched her cry at her coffee-soaked papers, computer, clothing and shoes, with only, "It's not the end of the world..." offered in comfort.
*remarked, at a decibel usually reserved for landing planes, that this "wasn't in the plan!".
*went outside to smoke, twice.
*embraced her spontaneously, causing her to drop her bottle of Pellegrino on his Adidas Shell Toes (apparently a fresh tragedy).
*took approximately seven phone calls, made nine.
*referred to me as "St. Coffee Girl" when I helped her dry out her papers.
*pissed off the entire coffee shop.
Since that fateful day, I've been fascinated by his exploits. I
really can't get enough. I've watched him freak out at people while
playing backgammon at the cafe tables outside. I've watched him
experience a too-hot latte with a stream of epithets that would make
the entire Merchant Navy blush. I've seen one woman break up with him
romantically ("Why don't you just date YOURSELF?!?", she said), and
another sever a friendship with him because, apparently, "Jim was sick
of me coming home crying after visiting with you...".
I've even watched him dance about the store like Fred Astaire,
trying to pick up a wireless signal on his (he named it, not me),
"CRAPTOP!". This concern led to the only other exchange we've ever had.
The conversation went like this:
"Hey, is your wireless working?"
"Yes...it is." (me, wide-eyed)
"Okay, give me your wireless card. What I'm doing is far more
important." At this point, I paused to consider a) whether or not he
was serious, b) what IS he doing, and c) should I just give it to him?
Is he worth resisting? Will he spill coffee on my laptop if I don't?
"Ummm..."
"'I'm KIDDING. Lay off the java, sweetie." At this point, he twirled away, to create drama elsewhere.
I'm not sure why I am so engaged by his mania. He's obviously
successful at something, because he has endless money to spend on
expensive coffee, hours to spend lolling about doing nothing but
conversing, and enough designer clothing to choke Paris Hilton. Perhaps
his natural drama is how he draws in an audience, or the investors that
lend foundation to whatever the blazes it is that he does.
People like him will always stay afloat in some way or another,
simply because they couldn't possibly fathom that anything would
prevent their rise through the career-o-sphere. If you're that
convinced you can't fail, other people tend to fall in line, too.
But I don't really care about all that, as long as he keeps the
floor show running here. After all, what's a circus without a clown?
5:30:54 PM 
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