tout à coup

maybe my perception's just skewed by recent readings about the 1973 chilean coup (when Pinochet's military regime, in cahoots with the u.s. government, overthrew the democratically elected president Allende) and by the movie "no" (about the 1988 chilean referendum that finally sent Señor P packing), but it seems increasingly clear that we have something of a small-scale dictator on our coffeeshop hands.

he's the grouchy-gruff fifty-year-old whose face is knotted up in deep creases that puzzlepiece together a permanent grimace. he's the guy whose rare laugh reeks of maliciousness. the guy who loves to engage in "conversations" that see him barking at his table-mate about what is/shouldbe/shouldntbe, and ignoring his compatriot's (prescriptively meagre) contributions altogether. except, of course, when opportunities for ridicule arise: well, i don't know the answer to that -- "Smart-A**" is implicit -- so why don't yooooou tell me! 

Grouchy Gruff also decides where they sit -- sit, Ubu sit! good dog! -- and when they leave. abruptly, practically mid-sentence: let's go outside. Ubu, who'd just been about to meagrely contribute, pauses. bewildered. very tentatively he asks: why? (it's for another smoke break. but Ubu isn't dignified with a response.) Ubu follows. not like an eager, bright-eyed, panting pup. more like an oppressed pooch who knows better than to think he has much of a choice in the matter.

just then, a man who looks remarkably like Stephen Harper (with shades and a bit more of a gut) walks in.

and now back to translating...