| wackadoo |
[May. 8th, 2008|12:21 pm] |
She's in her favorite coffee shop, working on her laptop. She walks over to the register to get some tea, where it is impossible to avoid listening to the tall, black-clad hipster leaning on the counter, talking at the two guys working there.
"Girls don't think like normal people," he tells them, at the top of his lungs. "They make no sense. Their brains are messed up, am I right? We can never understand them, because they're all crazy." He laughs loudly. "You know what I'm saying is true, right?" The guys behind the counter are mumbling "Uh huh, yup" and going about their business, making coffee and stuff. "Girls are crazy! What's the word? Wackadoo." He laughs even louder, all triumphant for coming up with this genius philosophy. "Wackadoo. Girls can't think straight. They're wackadoo."
He notices she's standing there and smirks in her direction. "Wackadoo," he repeats.
She says, conversationally, "Idiot."
He turns mean right away, narrowing his eyes and shooting her a nasty, tight-lipped smile like he'd rather take a swing at her. She can practically see the invective rolling through his mind, all those words men throw at women. She shrugs and turns to the guy at the counter, who is watching them nervously.
"May I have a cup of gunpowder tea?" she asks, and tilts her head. "Or would that be too... wackadoo?"
He opens his mouth and shuts it again, then turns to make the tea. By the time he's done, the hipster has left the coffeeshop.
"Here you go," says the coffeeshop guy, ringing it up. "And --" he glances at the door. "That doesn't reflect the opinion of the house."
She gives him a smile, a real one. "I know," she says. "That's why I come here." |
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