To the Semi-Cute Barista Who Took My Drink Order Today

Let's establish a few things. This is an apology, and nothing more. I am referring to you as only "semi-cute" because if I call you full-on cute I will come across as a total creep. But I want to acknowledge your cuteness, because I'm pretty sure it's a requirement for your job, and in case corporate reads this, you are doing an excellent job.

"Why mention cuteness at all," the feminists cry. "Why not just say "barista?" Well, feminists, I am a creep, and like I said, I'm trying to establish a few things here.

You see, I had my headphones in when you took my order, the grande soy chai-tea latte. And then you asked me for my name while I was trying to pay with my Android phone app. That app's pretty cool though, isn't it? My wife can go online and, in a glance, see how much money I'm wasting on coffee drinks. She can also see that I ordered soy and not regular milk because she thinks I need to be more healthy. I'm a creep, not an idiot.

You asked me for my name and I thought you said something else and I added, maybe, three seconds to the line before I pulled one bud from my ear. You were very nice about it. Didn't even make a face. Kept things semi-cute the whole time.

But what I want to explain to you is, it was a really good song I was listening too. It was totally calming me down from a harrowing bus ride. Wanna know why it was harrowing? It was a bus ride. I was in the zone with that song, which is why I even managed to get my Android app out and ready in the first place.

Normally you baristas have to tell me how much I owe you and then I fumble for my wallet and then remember my phone and then fumble for that and search for the app and then fumble for the right button to push [insert joke about some famously bad football team here].

So in reality, that song saved us, like a minute. Still, I want to apologize, or more to the point, thank you for letting me have my music and my grande soy chai tea latte too.

Tomorrow my wife's giving me a ride to work, so no bus, no harrowing, and I promise, no music. Unless my wife decides we need to talk about my coffee drink spending. Then I may need you to learn sign language.

The Key Is To Not Think About It

I worked from home for 12 years, and then one day out of the blue, I got laid off. I got a new job a few weeks later. Temporary, less pay, and get this: I have to work in an office, with people.

It's actually not so bad. It's in downtown Seattle, in the 4th and Pike Building. A little company called Joggle. We make a brain-training game. There are only six of us!

But the thing is, not only do I have to wear pants, and wear them every day, I have to share stuff now, Like a kitchen and an internet connection and a restroom. Not only that, but the restroom isn't even in the office-- I have to take a key and go out to the men's room at the end of the hall.

And the key sticks. No one told me. You know how it is on your first day. You're nervous. So you wait until the very last minute. And you look all over the office for the restroom. Finally nature puts nurture in a headlock and you ask someone. And are told where the key is. But not that the lock sticks!

So there's me struggling, sweating, standing there with my legs crossed while people walk by. Finally I went back and asked if I had the wrong key. Then they told me about the sticky lock. So I went back.

I'll save you the anguish I suffered: I got the door open. (Eventually. It was touch and go there for a while). I left the key in the men's room when I left, but that's another story.

That was two weeks ago. Now I can get through the door with nary a pause. Muscle memory is an incredible thing (my job is to research brain articles, so this is one I looked up today).

I hear we're going to hire a new guy soon. I can't wait. I can't wait to tell him nuthin'.

An Open Apology to the Ladies and Men Asking Me to Sign Things on Pike between 1st and 2nd

I lied. I was not in a hurry. Not really. I mean, I didn’t have time to talk to all six of you, but I guess I could have talked to one of you. But I didn’t want to. I need to get to Pike Place Market to buy some post cards and a copy of Games magazine. Then I need to grab lunch and head back to the office. I suppose I could have listened to one of you tell me why I should sign your petition… I just wasn’t in the mood.

But you were all so very nice. Each of you smiled. Three of you shook my hand. You listened to my lame excuse “In a hurry, sorry!” and your smiles never wavered, not a bit.

In general, I don’t like to sign petitions, that’s my excuse. I mean, I would have been wasting your time more than you would have been wasting mine. I wouldn’t have signed, even if it’s a cause I believe in. I know, I’m lame! Or, if you were one of the very pretty ones, and I was trying to impress you, I would have used a fake name.

I mean, come on, wasting your time when you could be spending it going after someone else? Signing a fake name and potentially rendering the petition invalid? Get creeped on by a guy who’s married anyway and even if he wasn’t is too old for you and even if you’re into older married guys there’s no way you’re into older married guys who write zombie stories and slam poetry? I did us both a favor.

But still, I think I should apologize anyway. Because you were all very friendly about it. It makes it harder for me to be an asshole when you don’t asshole me back. So, sorry about that.

By the way, could you let me know when you’re going to be gone? I need to buy my wife some flowers at the Market after she reads this.

I Promise to Write More. (That's Not a Threat!)

Since I started The Great Brain Robbery (topics in brain research, a testing platform for my new job) and Zombies for Life (a blog to promote my short story collection, available for your Kindle from Amazon, buy it today) people have been also coming across THIS "blog." I started it years ago and never did anything with it because mostly I was writing for Bukkhead.com

Bukkhead lately has just been book reviews (also posted on Goodreads) and the occasional short story. And then there was Wiffli, a blog I started as an "e-Zine" and a companion to a real paper zine that only saw one issue.

In other words, I'm all over the damn map.

But I do like to write. Well, sort of. I mean of course I do. But those of you who write a lot know what I mean when I say: usually, writing just happens.

Not all the time, of course. Not when you want it to. Not the way you want it to. At best, you sit down with a desire to write something and then you write it. At most, you stop doing something else for a while so you can stab fingers at a keyboard in a wild fury.

Blogging, for me, for now, could be a catch-all. I could start a dozen blogs. One for book reviews, one for short stories, one for each published book, one for what its like to blog all the #$%^& time.

I probably shouldn't, though. Like I said, I'm all over the map, and that includes my brain. I got on the bus this morning and was going to read, but first I did a "brain dump" of things to do, using Google Keep. Took up the whole 30-minute bus ride. Was still dumping when I got to Starbucks for some morning sunshine.

It's tough to stay organized. I think I'll use this blog, "...Other," to just do more brain dumping until I get some of my act together. But I WILL be updating The Great Brain Robbery and Zombies for Life at least daily until I read on some blog somewhere that daily is bad.

(I was doing twice-daily until I reads that twice-daily is bad. It was a relief and a curse. I left me time for more blogging!)

Addicted,
Jason.