You know what, its my shift at the coffee shop today, and I am really gonna make a statement. Forget playing Nina Simone or The Shins or covers of Dylan like Kerry does. I’m working the night shift and I am gonna play Mechanic Mayhem, my cousin Zed’s experimental noise band. I am going to be the one to really open up people’s perceptions of what music is.
"Sure, did you want skim milk or two percent?"
I mean, whose to say what music is? Sure, you can listen to Camera Obsura, and enjoy it while you chat with your friend, read, or work on your thesis. But, how is that challenging you? How is that shaking you free of your shackles? Fuck it, I’m turning this up to eleven.
"Mmm, how about whipped cream?"
See, this first part, I feel like this is listening to ME, I’m not listening to it. I LIKE that it sounds like a dissonant baby is jamming on a church organ. That it’s like someone is scrolling through their available cellphone rings hooked up to an industrial sized amp. That it’s like on Halloween when the doorbell keeps ringing but it’s hard to hear because you have on a “Now That’s What I Call a Haunted House” CD or whatever.
"What’s that? Oh, yeah, sure, I’ll turn it down."
Down to TEN! Whatever. This weeds out the squares. Iwant to be around free thinkers that don’t care if its like that scene in “Brokedown Palace” when the cockroach crawls into the girl’s ear but “Brokedown Palace” is Bushwick and the ear is mine and the cockroach is an entire marching band.
"Oh, how old is she? Adorable! Here- let me put the juice directly into her sippy cup for you."
That it feels painful, like the dude from the Mac commercials and “Live Free or Die Hard” is trying to banter with me. Or like every snooze alarm in Brooklyn has followed me here for the reckoning.
"The music? Sure, I’ll switch it up. I’m sorry. "
I’ll put on Monster Monster, my roommate’s girlfriend’s side project. This’ll teach that lady to judiciously part her hair and wear bootcut jeans. Puh-lease.
"Hey Jerry, we're out of Hazelnut, I'll put on another pot. A french vanilla, too, just in case."
Ha- this is the best part- where Amanda just screams and bangs on a bucket. I win! Cue the synthesizer from the He-man movie. Ok, now the tribal drums. Anyone who complains about this is a racist against Africa and probably like 30.
"Yeah, I’ll turn it down to four. Sorry."
C’mon, really? You’re all a bunch of fuckin’ sheep! You say you just want to drink coffee and get work done? I say who are you to have the luxury of relaxing? We’re put on this earth to learn and experiment and somewhere, deep down inside, you know it! You’re hiding! You’re hiding in your harmonious iambic pentametric systemic bullshit!
"Hmmm, well let’s see…I have Norah Jones. How’s that? Great!"
Oh, fine. Fuck you all. I can’t wait til my Dad picks me up.