As it were: la barista.
I have been attending to the Stone Creek Coffee at Blue Mound Avenue for about eighteen months now, since the end of September 2003. In that time, I have encountered several fine coffees-pourers, inclusive three who wore and wear mens neck-ties as belts. There is one, though
I shall refuse to name her, as I am not absolutely certain none of her friends and lovers, and acquaintances, read this web-site, but suffice to say, she needs no introduction. We all know her:
She began working at Stone Creek toward the end of September 2004, after I had been partaking of their steaming cups of steamer (check the menu: they have a drink dubbed the Steamer; no word on whether it is an Ohioan), and I was floored from minute one. She wore faux leather pants, skin-tight, that displayed her voluminous (especially given her slender frame and low weight) and rounded rear in oh, so much glory. Her breasts dangled, even for wearing of brassiere, and her skyline was visible to stare down her loose-fitting blouse as she would stoop to grind a ladle full of bean or operate the debit-swipe adjacent the register. Even her hairy arms short, black tingles upon her peach skin and unshaved pits (which I credit to her having come of age in Zambia, where her parents are missionaries, and which is not the U.S., i.e. non-Americans have different standards for grooming and physical attraction) elicited excitation in my brain.
Over time, then, I have taken to conversing with her, and for each time I have placed foot in mouth such as when, upon making a corny joke that wasnt even funny when I was nineteen (I noted the time one PM, and saying it was four-twenty, I asked, I feel corny for jesting like that, but you understand; I mean, everyone around my age and yours has done drugs?) I have drawn from her a toothy smile, and display of facial dimpling.
Never have I asked her out though. There was one time, recent, when I proposed that she (and friends, if she would so choose) take in La Mala Educacion with me at the Oriental Theatre this was about a month ago but she declined, citing her family obligations on Wednesdays (which I know to be not just a subtle way to put me off, as she had mentioned before, on occasions far afield from me asking her out, as it were to be, that she would see her brother and sister-in-law midweek, for Alias and board-games). For the better, though, as I asked in such an ambiguous manner, even I wouldnt have known to consider it a date or not.
In the last week, though, I think I have made some progress toward her warming to me. Namely, on this past Wednesday (2.III.05), I noticed the red bracelet she bore on her left arm, and asked, Does that say baller? (To get this, I should explain at my cinema job recently, I was cleaning a screening-room following a showing of Diary of a Mad Black Woman, and Alex, one of my male co-workers, found a Nike-brand take-off of Lances Live Strong bracelets; this one that Alex found was red, featured a swoosh, and in all caps the phrase Baller. Now, despite Alex being conspicuously white, he went on to wear it, for a bit anyway.) The barista explained, No, it says Life. And, when asked in what way was I to take it, she added, As in anti-abortion, pro-life.
Oh, yes, I thought. Well, I am not so much pro- or anti-abortion, as anti-pregnancy, I rejoined. (No, not just a line either. Serious, by half Its a long story.)
Crickets.
Later, though, as I was leaving, I did elicit laughter, and that smile. I complimented her for depriving herself of some pleasure or other in her case, sweets during Lent, and even though she is not Catholic. I said, You are a better woman than I.
She returned, Well, it might be because I am actually a woman.
I just had to respond, then. But, maybe, you know, not so much. I was raised mostly by mother, in a single-parent home
And, laughter. She threw her head back, dropped jaw, and guffawed.
Am I getting somewhere? Is anybody getting anywhere?
I have been attending to the Stone Creek Coffee at Blue Mound Avenue for about eighteen months now, since the end of September 2003. In that time, I have encountered several fine coffees-pourers, inclusive three who wore and wear mens neck-ties as belts. There is one, though
I shall refuse to name her, as I am not absolutely certain none of her friends and lovers, and acquaintances, read this web-site, but suffice to say, she needs no introduction. We all know her:
She began working at Stone Creek toward the end of September 2004, after I had been partaking of their steaming cups of steamer (check the menu: they have a drink dubbed the Steamer; no word on whether it is an Ohioan), and I was floored from minute one. She wore faux leather pants, skin-tight, that displayed her voluminous (especially given her slender frame and low weight) and rounded rear in oh, so much glory. Her breasts dangled, even for wearing of brassiere, and her skyline was visible to stare down her loose-fitting blouse as she would stoop to grind a ladle full of bean or operate the debit-swipe adjacent the register. Even her hairy arms short, black tingles upon her peach skin and unshaved pits (which I credit to her having come of age in Zambia, where her parents are missionaries, and which is not the U.S., i.e. non-Americans have different standards for grooming and physical attraction) elicited excitation in my brain.
Over time, then, I have taken to conversing with her, and for each time I have placed foot in mouth such as when, upon making a corny joke that wasnt even funny when I was nineteen (I noted the time one PM, and saying it was four-twenty, I asked, I feel corny for jesting like that, but you understand; I mean, everyone around my age and yours has done drugs?) I have drawn from her a toothy smile, and display of facial dimpling.
Never have I asked her out though. There was one time, recent, when I proposed that she (and friends, if she would so choose) take in La Mala Educacion with me at the Oriental Theatre this was about a month ago but she declined, citing her family obligations on Wednesdays (which I know to be not just a subtle way to put me off, as she had mentioned before, on occasions far afield from me asking her out, as it were to be, that she would see her brother and sister-in-law midweek, for Alias and board-games). For the better, though, as I asked in such an ambiguous manner, even I wouldnt have known to consider it a date or not.
In the last week, though, I think I have made some progress toward her warming to me. Namely, on this past Wednesday (2.III.05), I noticed the red bracelet she bore on her left arm, and asked, Does that say baller? (To get this, I should explain at my cinema job recently, I was cleaning a screening-room following a showing of Diary of a Mad Black Woman, and Alex, one of my male co-workers, found a Nike-brand take-off of Lances Live Strong bracelets; this one that Alex found was red, featured a swoosh, and in all caps the phrase Baller. Now, despite Alex being conspicuously white, he went on to wear it, for a bit anyway.) The barista explained, No, it says Life. And, when asked in what way was I to take it, she added, As in anti-abortion, pro-life.
Oh, yes, I thought. Well, I am not so much pro- or anti-abortion, as anti-pregnancy, I rejoined. (No, not just a line either. Serious, by half Its a long story.)
Crickets.
Later, though, as I was leaving, I did elicit laughter, and that smile. I complimented her for depriving herself of some pleasure or other in her case, sweets during Lent, and even though she is not Catholic. I said, You are a better woman than I.
She returned, Well, it might be because I am actually a woman.
I just had to respond, then. But, maybe, you know, not so much. I was raised mostly by mother, in a single-parent home
And, laughter. She threw her head back, dropped jaw, and guffawed.
Am I getting somewhere? Is anybody getting anywhere?