A Lovely Day

Today is a lovely day. 

The way the morning sunlight radiates off the wisps of vapor coming from this magical brown liquid is really quite mesmerizing. I could watch it for hours and, most days, that’s actually what I do. My little home away from home is nothing they would gush over at the court of Versailles but it’s warm and dry and I look forward to it opening every day at 5:30 AM. I am typically the first one in line and I take great pride in my punctuality. Most of the employees here are very kind and some actually greet me by the proper title of Archduke when I arrive. They all know my order now too so, in my book, that makes me a real person. There are a few outliers though like that persnickety trollop Laura who lets out a snarky little sigh that she thinks I can’t hear whenever I arrive and she is working at the register. I’m used to it though. Eye rolls and sidelong glares are daily hazards in my occupation. I try to ignore the slights from the arrogant harpy as best I can. I am, after all, a civilized gentleman. For example, I always have exact change ready and I even try to give them the cleanest currency in my possession. Crisp dollar bills and grime-free coins are, after all, the pinnacle of sophistication in my realm.

 Once I have procured my morning delight, I find my usual spot in a tight little corner away from the hustle and bustle of people waiting for the restroom. My regular table has a breathtaking view of the interstate while, at the same time, allowing me to watch all my fellow patrons roll through this fine establishment like sleepy-eyed cattle on their way to slaughter. For the most part, my patronage here throughout the years has been peaceful and mutually beneficial but lately, tensions have been on the rise. Most of the problems started when Laura was promoted to Assistant Supervisor and the power went straight to the malicious popinjay's head. We have been at war ever since and now we find ourselves locked in a visceral stalemate that seems more intractable than Verdun. 

I’ve cleaned myself up quite a bit which I believe helps to minimize any potential ostracization. Since the newest charitable sanctuary opened not five blocks from here, I shower twice a week which is up substantially from the twice-a-month it used to be. I also keep my beard neat and free from particulates and I make sure to not block the sidewalk with the earthly possessions that I keep outside in a four-wheeled carriage which I procured from a local culinary market. I do not want to be considered intrusive. Sometimes, if my heart is feeling open and generous, I even try to help out. The staff insists that I don’t have to but if I see a table with errant crumbs or the sticky vestiges of a long-vanished beverage I will clean it up for them. I don’t mind. After all, I have the time and they do get quite harried during the morning rush.

Laura has had her victories for sure. One major triumph for that vicious bearcat was the implementation of a policy enforcing a two-and-a-half-hour limit to how long you can be here at any given time. What Laura and her corporate viceroys failed to write into their draconian little rule though was that they did not specify how many times in a day you could sit for two and a half hours so now, I start my day here and come back precisely two and a half hours before they close in a perfectly executed temporal pincer reminiscent of Cannae. Laura can’t be here all the time and most of the other employees don’t fight my presence with her vim and vigor so I’m able to maintain my daily ritual with minimal obtrusions. In the evening, after my nightcap and when they lock the doors and turn out the lights, I make my way to the alley behind this edifice where the employees have dumped bags of delicacies they have deemed unfit for public consumption. This is how I get the much-needed carbohydrates to fuel my aching bones for yet another day.

Today is very busy. The release of a traditional autumn libation has brought forth hordes of maidens who seem to be taking photographs of their paperboard chalices. Some even hold their cellular telephones at arm's length and cradle their purchase close to their cheeks while pontificating about how excited they are to partake in this annual ritual. I have grown accustomed to this madness over the years. When one is a regular at any establishment, one learns to track the passage of time by the beats and rhythms of the location. In my head, I now possess a sort of aromatic calendar and I can tell the season simply by the scent of this place. In the winter, sweet notes of peppermint and cinnamon dance in the air. Springtime is flush with whiffs of pistachio and summer is ripe with chocolate delights. Pumpkin is now the fragrance du jour and, sure enough, the leaves on the elms across the boulevard are starting their annual march toward the river Styx. Laura is working the register and, much to my delight, seems overwhelmed and flustered by the tsunami of patrons.

A gentleman has entered this establishment and is causing quite a ruckus. I recognize him as one of my fellow outdoor enthusiasts but I am unaware of either his Christian name or his ancestry. I have simply named him Handle in my mind because of his peculiar habit of carrying around a large jug of soil-colored liquid. When I have previously seen him on the byways, he always seems wrapped in an intense debate with an unseen sparring partner. He is now demanding that Laura stop poisoning transient citizens. His arms are flailing as wildly as if they are separate beings and he is insisting that the sandwiches they serve will cause his demise. Many of the patrons have melted away into the corners and others have left entirely because of his boisterous antics. Laura has stepped back from the register and is on the telephone explaining the situation to someone she hopes will render assistance. Handle is more agitated now and is starting to pluck branded merchandise and prepackaged food from the shelves. He is tossing them to the ground in a haphazard and violent manner while becoming increasingly creative with his insults and profanity. Now, while I would normally applaud anyone for making Laura’s day more arduous, I cannot have him disturbing the peace of my morning rite and I do not want his actions to result in an outright ban on the al fresco residents of this fine city so I find myself compelled to action. 

I rise like a phoenix and patrons part in front of me as the Red Sea parted for Moses. Handle asks me what I require in a less than civilized manner and I explain to him that he must leave or I will have to forcefully escort him from the premises. He tells me to engage in intercourse with the matriarch of my family which is, of course, absurd as she passed through St. Peter’s gates many, many years ago. When it is clear that he will not comply with my verbal request, I am forced to play the role of St. George and vanquish this unruly dragon. 

           Handle turns to continue his mindless destruction and I seize the opportunity to pounce on his tactical mistake. With the speed of a peregrine and the strength of an angry cossack, I grab him by his arm and collar and hoist him toward the entrance. He tries to resist but my grip is iron and I toss him onto the sidewalk and lock the door. He pounds on the glass with the fury of an angry mob and the frame shudders, but his blows cannot penetrate the glass and steel. The local constables arrive and, after a moment of wild struggle, they subdue the miscreant and place him in the rear of their paddywagon. 

Laura is at my side staring in disbelief at the decisiveness of my triumph. Her eyes seem to soften and her mouth is slightly agape at what she just witnessed. For several seconds, she says nothing at all but then snaps back to reality.

“Thank you Mister…Mister Archduke…Your Highness.”

“You’re quite welcome my dear. We can’t have any ruffians darkening our doorstep now can we?” 

I return to my seat and resume my study of the traffic patterns on the interstate. A few minutes later Laura stops at my table with a complimentary confection and promises me she will stop changing the code on the restroom door. I smile and thank her for her newfound kindness. I suspect the future is bright between us.

Today is a lovely day.