"God Coffee, I Miss You."
I had won the disapproval of yet another older gentleman, this time one who remained seated at the bar of the restaurant, shaking his head at the young guy in the corner booth, telling his coffee he missed it. If you asked him, vegetarians were taking it a bit too far, not wanting to offend the animals they normally ate, and here's yet one more progressive one, getting a guilty complex from drinking his coffee.
Later, when he'd finished his meal and left his money on the counter, pushed slightly further than he normally would underneath his plate, he made it a point to mumble, just above his breath, "stupid bloody vegetarians, what's next with you people" as he passed me. This old fella had no trouble with the restaurant doors, which evidently were better cared for here than the coffee shop. That or maybe karma was getting a little sick of me and all my moaning about cryptic messages from the beyond. I thought idly about telling my waitress, next time she came around.
The old man left a couple old guys at the counter, sitting together, having eggs and bacon and toast with coffee of their own. The one wearing a red cap looked at the plate left behind, just hiding the couple of bills folded underneath a few stools away. He looked for a long, slow time, before glacially giving it up for lost and turning my way. He had a slow, stiff way of turning, as if his neck didn't quite work properly. Or as if he were the ice man, cometh'ing at his own sweet pace.
"What was that? 'God Coffee, I Love You?'"
"No no no, 'God Coffee, I Miss You.'"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know."
I had to fumble with my teaspoon for a bit before realising they were waiting for a little more, before letting me off. The one not wearing the red cap, though he looked like he had been, and had whipped it off in a hurry, causing all of his pepper hair to stand straight on end, like those old photos of Einstein, or, more importantly, Einstein's hair, he was staring at me. I thought I might have had something on my nose, it was one of those stares.
"Well, it's this thing I saw, on the street..."
"A sign?" Red Cap turned to his partner, "Oh, hey, were you there when we saw the big sign painted on the side of that barn:
'At The End of This Road? I think there was a number underneath it, too."
You'll Find God.'
"Phone number?" He caught me off-guard. Judging by his friend with the red cap and his none-too-quick movements, I never could have guessed this guy would talk so damn fast.
"No, Bible number."
"Ah. Right." It was like listening to a record on a higher speed than it's supposed to be played at.
"No, it was just some... rubbish. I guess. Sort of." I got another opportunity to play with my fork, which was quickly running out of entertaining and diverting things to do. "Kind of like that, though."
"Oh."
"Hey. So did you get to the end? Of the road?" The bartender had made his way over, hearing the deeper mysteries of life and travel being discussed.
"Yeah. But nothing."
"Hmm." I'm telling you, that old Einstein-looking guy was like a finely tuned motor humming there.
"Where was this sign?" asked the bartender.
"I don't know, I was driving a lorry for some fertiliser company at the time, and I made a lot of runs, could have been anywhere out there... like a mystery."
"Wow."
And I got a weird stare when I got up to leave.
disclaimer:
See you again next week, kiddoes.
We've got spilt milk to clean up, catch you then.
Yer Weekly Horoscopes.