In an attempt to get some work done at lunch, I thought I’d hunker down at the corner table at Brazil and do some tinkering with Plan B (a play is NEVER finished) (Albee is still editing Virginia Woolf) (not that I’m comparing myself to Albee) (mostly). No dice. Two young queens sat at the table next to me. They were both still in high school, and judging by how skinny they were, I’m guessing they’re on the caffeine-only diet. Well, caffeine and pot. One of them told a story about being in the backyard smoking a joint with friends the other night when his mother came outside and almost busted him. Evidently his mother is not only stupid but is also lacking any olfactory senses because she didn’t notice the thick haze surrounding his head. Then again, he could have been making the whole thing up trying to impress his table companion.
While telling the story, his companion repeatedly said, “That’s hot.” I can’t put into words quite how irritating I found that little catchphrase, but I must have been giving off some super strong bad vibes because they weren’t sitting there more than five minutes when one suggested they go sit outside. The other one said, “that’s hot” and I wasn’t sure if he was using his catchphrase or referring to the 85+ degree weather. I’m not sure he knew, either.
Jackasses. Or maybe I’m just crabby. Six of one.