Vignette 10
I Like My Coffee Like I Like My Hamsters
Every few seconds a hamster jumps from its espresso cup, and Dave scrambles after it, putting it back in the cup, and turning to find the next one scampering across the countertop.
“Why do you have hamsters on the coffee bar?” James asks, wrapping an apron around his waist.
“I’m trying to get a cute picture of hamsters in espresso cups,” Dave replies. “I’m putting it on my blog.”
“The brown one’s escaping,” James says. “That’s really fucking unsanitary.”
“Look dude, just help me get this pic, and the hamsters are in their cage like it never happened.” He puts the brown hamster into its cup, and holds his hands just above the four cups to keep them from freedom. “Just come over to the side and hold them in until I get the shot.”
James holds the hamsters in the cups, and when Dave says, releases them. They repeat this four times, each time chasing down errant hamsters, until Dave is happy with the shot. The picture is adorable. There is hamster shit in one of the cups.
“You can’t just wash these,” James says. “You’ll need to throw them out.”
“That’s cool,” Dave replies, scooping the last of the rodents into their cage before closing the little barred door. “I’ll buy them. Totally worth it.”
“You’re not going to _drink_ out of them, are you?”
“I’m not crazy, dude.” Dave puts a twenty on the table and the cups in the trash. “Speaking of which, how are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better,” James says. He digs around in his pocket for a moment, pulls out a dirty yellow piece of paper, puts it on the counter. “I found this on my door last night.”
Dave picks up the paper. “You are not alone,” he reads. “That’s fucking creepy, dude.”
“Creepier than taking pictures of rodents in cups we serve people drinks in?”
“Touché,” Dave says, wiping the last clues to the existence of hamsters from the bar. “Customer.”
She’s a mousy thing, little and thin. There’s some pretty in her face, mostly around the eyes and cheeks, but she does nothing to accentuate it. Her hair is unkempt. She’s blushing, looking down at the camera she clutches with white knuckles.
“Mocha, please?” she asks.
“Sure,” James says. “What size.”
“Oh, just a little one,” she says. “I never remember if you’re the coffee shop that pretends it knows Italian or not.”
“Whip?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
“Hamster?” he asks, smiling. She doesn’t get it.
“Sorry, what was that?” she asks.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. He takes her money, and in trying to figure out who might have left him the strange note, instantly forgets her.
Picture stolen from Rachel Unleashed, who is lovely. She added me on Facebook, the dear.
This one is a little more fun than the previous few vignettes have been, and I feel of worse quality. I like James. I like his little Stalker Girl more. I’m already fond of Dave. I’m getting myself quite the cast of characters here.
