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“To be, or not to be, that is the question:/
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer/
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,/
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles/
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,/
No more; and by a sleep to say we end/
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks/
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation/
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;/
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:/
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,/
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,/
Must give us pause—there's the respect/
That makes calamity of so long life./
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,/
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,/
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,/
The insolence of office, and the spurns/
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,/
When he himself might his quietus make/
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,/
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,/
But that the dread of something after death,/
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn/
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,/
And makes us rather bear those ills we have/
Than fly to others that we know not of?/
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,/
And thus the native hue of resolution/
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,/
And enterprises of great pith and moment/
With this regard their currents turn awry/
And lose the name of action.”/
-William Shakespeare
So my mom used to say to me while we were eating at the diner near my house. I know normally eating out is reserved for travelers from out of state, local guys who go out every week, and it all pays homage to the true American spirit relating to good service and free refills. I like Shakespeare, especially paired with a plate of eggs, ham, and cheese. I’ll even take a Denver Omelet, if you have tomatoes and whatever else (sausages) you’d like to put in there. So that is where my mom taught me some of the most important skills in life. One, how to speak gracefully about self-serving death under stress. Two, how to order coffee at the end of the meal to drive home. And three, how to sneak out of the hotel room at night. We’ll get to three later. How about for now, some context.
My older brother was applying to colleges and had gotten into several so far. I had gone along with him to visit Ithica so far, and maybe one or two more. I decided I liked the look of most places, but there was one thing I had wanted to see for a while. The capital of our country, Washington DC. I really liked the place. Very hot in the summer, lots of plants, great amounts of influence, and the undeniable feeling of this southern hospitality! It was a remarkable place to be, even if only for a night of two. Earlier, however, things were not going well though. My mom and dad while driving were in a massive argument over where we should have stayed that night. My dad had a bed someplace, but my mom booked a hotel room. I was mostly excited to sleep in a new room in a new city. Hotels are always exciting places to be.
Suddenly, a couple of minutes away from a set of incredibly important turns, my mom flew into this terrifying rage about what room we should stay at, banging on the windows of the car, yelling obscenities at my father, and really implying terrible things about the world in general. I was somewhat freaked out, and realized my mom wouldn’t be happy unless someone gave into her demands. At this point in time I’m used to making plans which will either fall through or be destroyed in an inferno, so I really made the absolutely sane decision to leave with my mom and head to the other hotel. My dad dropped us off and drove away with my brother. She and I checked in, went upstairs, and I downloaded the Uber app so I could meet my dad and brother in the morning. That is how we settled in for the night.
Haha. Just kidding. What I actually did was sneak out the hotel room at 1 am, take an Uber to some I Hop, and order myself food because I was hungry and didn’t want to eat the vending machine food. Stupid move, no? Perfectly in line with Hamlet, even? I sure hope so.
My dad and mom flipped and came to pick me up. Thus ends the tale of my absolute lack of desire to follow either of their plans.
The next morning we packed up and called said Uber to pick us up and navigate through the city. Our lovely driver (whose trunk the coffee was spilled in, and who to the day I still have to make right with) dropped us off at my dad’s hotel where we proceeded to tour the school where my brother went.
Now, this story doesn’t really focus on the diner, but it was sort of involved, so that’s that for good scene setting. So long, fellow writers.
note: I still need about 200 more words, so I decided to look up all the synonyms for coffee and brown in other languages which are not English. Here they are. ikhofi kọfi קאַווע kofu coffi cà phê qahva قەھۋە کافی kava kofe Kahve กาแฟ Kāphī кофе கொட்டைவடி நீர் қаҳва kaffe kahawa kopi café kafeega kava káva කෝපි ڪافي kofi kofi кафа cofaidh kofe кофе cafea ਕਾਫੀ café Kawa قهوه କଫି kaffe कफी ကော်ဖီ кофе कॉफी kawhe kafè കോഫി kopi kafe кафе Kaffi kavos kafija capulus ກາເຟ кофе qehwe 커피 ikawa កាហ្វេ кофе ಕಾಫಿ kopi コーヒー caffè caife kopi kọfị kaffi kávé kas fes -hmong
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