I pray to the Guardian of the Watchtower of the Cannabis Jesus.
So I don’t really have a cocktail to fit the story this blog post, but this was too funny and too weird not to blog about. I really, really wish I would have had my camera.
So I decided to go to Starbucks to be a pretentious poser and write, because Starbucks is about two blocks from my apartment. (It’s totally geography based only, fellow coffee snobs!) I grab my vanilla latte and sit down. There’s an empty banquette and I’m sitting at one end and no one else is in my little row except some woman who was still in her scrubs who had clearly just finished a shift at Rex hospital. She gets up to leave and these three girls sit down: A French girl with braces and a speech impediment; a light skinned black girl with poorly taken care of dreadlocks; and the pretty nondescript girl who you would see blowing the leading singer of Modest Mouse on stage or singing in the church choir. They all look they might enjoy the cannabis as well.
I ignore the girls for the first thirty minutes or so, and then I sort of slump out of my writing groove and decide it would be a good idea to people watch/eavesdrop. I discreetly alt-tab to go back to Itunes, spacebar to stop I-tunes, and start listening. Clearly I have to watch the three girls who have been holding court to my left for that half hour. Their shtick: People would come over to them. The girls who grab the victim’s cell phone and talk them for five minutes before they are dismissed back to the conference room where another one of the fifteen unsuspecting people in the conference room repeats this bizarre little process.
My curiosity is peaked, so with the next interrogated person I clearly have to start listening. This mousy girl with braces comes out and, they ask, “Would you like to record this?” I’m already “WTF?”
She declines, and they pray over the cell phone for God to speak through them (through the cell phone. Apparently God is on Verizon) since this girl has come to them in good faith for their help and guidance. Each one recites part of this prayer thing that goes something to the effect of “This girl has come to us in good faith. God speak through us so she may hear what you have to say.”
The girls then go around the circle to tell this girl about herself. “I feel like there’s a lot of art around you. Like painting and sculpture.” When the victim doesn’t respond, another of the trio starts in, “Or architecture. I feel like you’ve got a really good eye. But not as a profession.”
Then the third girl talked about how difficult and beautiful architecture was like she was going to design buildings as her hobby. About five minutes later she walked off and another girl walked up. At which point, the process started over again.
As I packed up and left Starbucks, I couldn’t help but thinking these three girls must have started off much like the Three Witches in MacBeth. Bad advice, seemingly coming from a good place, which is only set to destroy you. Maybe they’re just starting a cult.
Ultimately, it was very strange. But I didn’t hate my latte and wrote about 1000 words. Not a total loss.
Anyway, as always, happy, and safe drinking.