loonie bin

you know that busker-type who stands frozen on the sidewalk for what seem like eons and moves only after someone tosses a couple of loonies into the upside-down, gold-glitter-spraypainted top hat on the ground in front of him? well, imagine that, instead of one busker, there are two. and instead of standing in crisply held mime-shapes on the streetside, they're sitting face-to-face lethargic right next to you in a coffee shop. and instead of surprising you by mr. roboto-ing when you drop loonies into the hat (which, of course, doesn't actually exist in this scenario), they talk. and instead of enchanting you with their impressive stillness and concentration, they bore you stiff (causing you to begin inadvertently resembling the mid-freeze busker) with their debilitatingly dull topics of conversation. and, even though you've stopped throwing your "loonies" into the "hat" (truth be told, you've yet to throw even one because you'd never been all that interested to begin with), they always find something else to say (usually monotonously) after their long pauses, so you can never make it stop or make them go away.

well, this is pretty much what's happening here right now. these two 50+ sisters (i guess?) launch into something about how lipstick melts. (long pause. would-be loonie toss.) then, on to how chemicals break down the spandex in bathing suits. (pause. loonie.) later, it comes up that some mutual friend named Marla has lots of stuff. gripping. even their rants (so-called) are a snore: you know what i hate? kitchen stuff. (what that could possibly mean, i will never know.) or how about: you know flip flops? that thing between the toes? i can't wear those. they're not realistic for walking. on a scale of boring to BO-RING, this is a bazillion times worse than any bridgehead hot chocolate. i'm on the verge of falling into a very deep coma. and of gouging one of my own eyes out. possibly with a loonie.

forty-five minutes into the Snore Sisters' conversation, a glimmer of hope. Sister 1: do we need to get going? i mean, what time's our show at again? (oh, if ever there were a god...) but then, Sister 2: 7:30. current time: 5:45. oh, eff.

some time later, at the same table -- now occupied by a 20-something woman who's wearing her black Jackie O sunglasses indoors (which i understand about as well as i get "hating kitchen stuff") -- there's another freeze-busker moment. a 30-something man-on-a-mission enters the coffee shop and makes a beeline for Indoor Jackie. he kind of reminds me of the stapler guy (aka Milton) from office space, except thinner, with darker hair and less ridiculous eyewear. anyway, he stands behind the chair that's facing Jackie and remains there, completely still, mute and erect (no, not like that) for a solid sixty seconds. it's awkward. Jackie's very busy texting, and (reminder) she's wearing sunglasses. indoors. so, this whole time, she doesn't seem to see him. when her eagle eye finally does spot him, she throws a question (instead of a loonie) dryly his way: are you looking for someone? he doesn't even answer. instead, realizing Jackie's clearly not the blind date he's come here to meet up with, he does a 180˚ (like they do in the military) and takes a seat at a neighbouring table to wait for his real date. frozen again for an indefinite amount of time. until the next loonie drops.

and now back to translating...