Memorial Day 2006

Morning: I went to a certain outlet of a certain well-known chain of coffee shops – a certain outlet located on the edge of a certain affluent suburb. It's about three miles north of the limits of my usual social travels, but it is the fallback location for the usual suspects on holidays when our home coffee shop is not open.

So there I am at the certain outlet in the certain affluent neighborhood, 8:20 in the morning, and everyone there is genetically perfect. They're wearing genetically perfect clothes. They're driving genetically perfect automobiles of certain well-known luxury marques, unless they've ridden up on bicycles, in which case they're riding genetically perfect bicycles. They are perfect. Be ye perfect as they are perfect.

And I'm thinking to myself, "You so do not belong here. Run away, run away, run away, before they discover you." I felt like the Ethan Hawke character in Gattaca.

So I tried to get a grip on myself. "Calm down," I said. "Just drink your coffee and relax."

But I knew they knew. I knew that as soon as they saw me, they knew I was Not Like Them. I was a Morlock, a mutant, a sewer dweller, up from the damp depths of below-50th-street-but-not-historic-preservation neighborhoods.

"It's okay," I said to myself. "Just be patient. Friends are on the way. You are not alone."

And then the Kingpin emerged, lumbering down the sidewalk in a golf shirt and knee-length shorts that probably cost more than everything I'll wear this week, a banana-and-créme Frappucino® certain popular trademarked novelty beverage in his hand.

And I bolted. I bolted for my plain white minivan, parked at the end of the row of Lexuses and Infinitis, and took off. If you in a bag, you gotta bug out.

McGee drove up just as I was leaving. "You're on your own," I called as I headed for the minivan. "You're the Lone Ranger."

I drove around and gathered my wits, steeled my resolve, then returned to the certain coffee shop outlet in the certain affluent suburb. McGee was gone. I haven't heard from him since. Possibly someone collected a DNA sample from his coffee cup, discovered he was Not Like Them, and spirited him away. Perhaps he'll turn up later.

Later in the day, I did my volunteer stint at the Paseo Arts Festival, then hung around with executive director soartstar until the 6 pm closing. Bought 20 raffle tickets and won not a damn thing, while RJ who occasionally posts here won two pieces.

And that was my day.