the Hippo Brigade

Tall Smock

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December 2, 2010

Here’s something I don’t get:

Small Talk.

I went to the grocery store last night and there was this lively young clerk that was working at the Starbucks counter (It has to be noted: I’m totally above drinking Starbucks coffee. I had a hot chocolate).

He was all jaunty, my guess is from too many pumps of the peppermint syrup when no one was looking, and maybe a little stir crazy from being behind the glass enclosure too long staring at the produce department. I’d be lively and jaunty too if all I did was stare at parsnips and romaine lettuce, I suppose.

But instead of calling it lively and jaunty, I’d call something way more severe, like enraged and volatile.

Maybe that’s what separates me from Jonah, the jaunty Starbucks-inside-an-Albertson’s-barista. He can take a situation like being stuck inside a 2 foot by 6 foot enclosure with nothing but coffee grounds and coffee farts to keep himself company, and make it a positive one. Kum-ba-FRICKIN’-ya, Jonah. I’m happy for you, seriously, I am. But let’s not do the small talk, mmm-k?

At first it started out innocent enough. He said hi, and told me I looked like I was juggling a lot. I had Hudson in the Ergo and Berlyn was ramming my ankles with her very own mini shopping cart. I gave Jonah a sassy look, that I thought seamlessly communicated that not only am I not up for small talk, but also, I’d like my hot chocolate quick-like-a-bunny, because my children only have about 28 minutes of good-happy-time before they totally loose their shit. And I’m not about to be the mom with her child spralled across the floor of the gummy snacks isle, because they’re sold out of Toy Story gummies. Nope, that’s not going to be me. Not tonight, young man.

But he took my sassy look as, yes, please proceed with the talking to me. I enjoy the sound of your voice. Please may I hear a childhood story or perhaps the saga of your first love…?

So then Jonah launches in about his 5-year-old nephew and something about Spider Man, I don’t know, I stopped listening. But then he paused and looked up at me with a smile. What the hell, Jonah? Is this where I’m supposed to laugh at your anecdotal story about kids? Ahhh-haaa-haa. I’m not really good at the courtesy laugh. Can I have my drink now?

No? No drink then? More talking? Super.

Then he starts feeling comfortable with me and telling me that his dad owns a computer game store and that he really wants to create computer games for a living, but he’s still at community college, and he has to save up to transfer, thus why he’s making coffee drinks at the grocery store, and does it really look like I care? Apparently I’m giving off a tell-me-your-life-story vibe. I keep shifting my weight, looking at Berlyn, and hoping to get out of this uncomfortable situation soon and very soon.

All I want is a hot chocolate, Jonah. I really don’t feel like being your life coach right now.

I’m pretty sure 3 hours passed, and he finally reveals my drink.

About frickin’ time J-Dog.

But he doesn’t charge me.

He says it’s on the house, and Merry Christmas.

Well, crap.

Merry Christmas Jonah.

All I had to do is listen to your jabbering, and I got a free drink.

I feel like if I sat down and thought about it long enough I’d expose a very relevant life, and Biblical lesson.

But I have  about 12 minutes of shopping-time left.

CHEERS!