Smoking

So I just went to the Starbucks, because every day I can squeeze another Pumpkin Spice cup 'o fun from them after it's taken off the official menu is a GOOD day. And I'm standing there a respectable distance to the left of the VERY TINY PICK-UP TABLE that SOME PEOPLE FEEL IS AN IDEAL SPACE TO BLOCK WHILE TALKING LOUDLY ON THEIR CELL PHONES LIKE THIS (not that I'm bitter or anything...) when a tall boy in a long, black, goth-ish trench coat taps me on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said. "Do you have an extra cigarette?"

"Nope," I said, processing the fact that I didn't have ANY cigarettes, much less extra. "Not for two years or so."

"Oh," he said, "Cause I thought I saw you standing outside smoking."

Dressed as I was in my sad suburban chic gym outfit of Margaritaville t-shirt, college logo gym shorts, and Nike Shox, replete with Sunday ponytail hair and a jones for caffeine, I couldn't imagine how he could mistake me for ANYONE, much less someone who'd been standing outside smoking a minute ago. Or maybe I fell into a wrinkle in time. Maybe I'd regressed to my teenaged self, and instead of spending the last hour suffering on the elliptical trainer and running to nowhere, had really been on the curb outside of the coffee store, sucking down Marlboro Lights - 100s, thanks, boxed.

Doubtful, so instead I said, "Sorry, kicked it," in reference to the habit that as bad for you as it is, tends to throw you in the path of some interesting people and conversations.

Comments

[es]

surely it was just a pickup line.

[laurie]

Oh no, Esther, he was like 18 years old!

[esther]

yeeeees?