Kings of Comedy
So, at the Starbucks where I while away my mornings, there’s a hierarchy of crazies. Oh, and they all talk to each other about the work that they are pretending to do, which I find especially rich.
Last week, my favorite guy, who is bald and has a voice that carries well, told a patron that sat at a wobbly mosaic table “they’re all like that. What you’re gonna need to do is, you’re gonna want to rotate thirty degrees, against the wall, and that’ll take care of your wobble.”
I call this man King of Starbucks, just because, it fits. But who really wants that title?
Today, another regular spilled a whole cup of coffee, and Mr. Rotating Table asked if the spiller had “put sugar in his coffee yet. Gotta watch out for the sticky keyboard, otherwise.”
Oh, and while I was writing this, the King of Starbucks just spilled his cup of coffee everywhere, too. Long live the King.
