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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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BUZZ
----
I had called Julie to go out since I figured she would be going
nuts in her apartment by herself since Steve, her boyfriend and my
co-worker and friend, had to go out of state for a family thing. We
didn't really see each other unless we were both with Steve, but I
wanted to be nice to her try to show her a little good will. Besides,
she had been bugging me to take her to "one of those weird coffee shops"
for weeks. I was a little concerned that she might feel slightly out of
place if I took her to any of my usual hang outs, but she seemed undaunted
when I explained to her that she would be hard pressed to find anyone here
who didn't have a nose, nipple or tongue ring. I expected her to be
revolted, but she was really dying to see some of the counter- culture.
Like some kind of researcher, she wanted to see what "they" were like,
first hand and maybe pull out a few sketches for her Monday night drawing
class.
We walked in the door and a boulder of cigarette and clove smoke
rolled out the door just before it closed. Julie took a quick surveillance
of the dimly lit cafe before deciding that we were to sit in the corner
where she could get a good look around. I set up my little work area to
write for my magazine and she puled out her drawing notebook, a few odd
looking pencils and a mangled eraser. She lit one of her narrow, pristine
cigarettes and held it delicately between her manicured fingers. We cracked
small grins at each other in silence for a few seconds, not knowing quite
what to make of the situation. I almost felt like I was trying to hang out
with my mother. I pulled my manic hair up into a pony tail, peeled of my
leather jacket and began writing without another moment wasted. Realizing
that I wasn't going to chit chat, she consulted the menu and scanned it up
and down and back again.
After about eight minutes, the tattooed, pierced, violet haired
waiter noticed our presence came by and asked us for our orders.
"I'll have a double iced mocha" I said.
"I'll try this Mind Melter thing," Julie said pointing to it on the
menu. The waiter paused and looked at her doubtfully, as was I.
"It's pretty strong," the waiter warned, "The boss was considering
taking it off the menu soon due to all the legal threats."
"You know Julie" I said, "you're not a real big coffee drinker.
That might not be such a good idea."
An expression of firm determination planted itself firmly on her
face as she said, "No, I want to try it."
"Okay," the waiter said shaking his head. He scribbled our orders
down and walked back to the bar.
I was on my second page when he returned with our two drinks. Mine
was in an oversized mug and Julie's was in a large glass. The Mind Melter
was an oily black and had the consistency of slightly thinned chocolate
syrup. She picked up her glass and examined it for a minute like it was
some kind of rare animal. She slowly brought it to her lips and cautiously
sipped as though she believed it might actually sear her face off. She
swallowed the first gulp and her whole body relaxed.
"This is really good," she smiled. "I don't know what all the fuss
is about."
I nodded and continued writing. Within a matter of minutes, the
Mind Melter was gone. Julie excused herself to the bar and returned
already sucking down another one.
"What the hell are you doing?" I snapped. "That's enough caffeine
to kill a small horse."
"Oh, stop it," she said joking defiantly. "I think I can handle it.
To be honest, I don't think there's any caffeine in this thing."
I returned to my pad of paper and tried to ignore her. Her second
drink vanished almost as quickly as the first. As the last drop of sludge
went into her mouth, she was up for another one. This one was gone before
she even got back to the table. I noticed the waiter nearby and he was
looking at us with something unmistakably like pity. Julie flashed me an
innocent grin and sat back down to resume drawing. That's when it started.
It was really subtle at first. Julie was only trembling a little.
She toyed with her small diamondstud earrings and clacked her nails on the
table. Every minute or so she would lay her pencil down and steady herself
with a deep breath and/ or a cigarette. The quivers were soon replaced by
full blown tremors. I could see her fidgeting around a lot as if she were
covered in fleas. She was trying to hide it and continued to draw. I raised
my eyes and watched her as she scrawled manically on page after page, each
"drawing" nothing more that a mass of chaotic marks. She began flailing so
wildly that the table was rocking, my mug was clacking around in its dish
and the remains of my drink were spilling all over the table.
"Are you all right?" I asked. She jerked back into her chair and
started laughing. With every breath she got louder and higher in pitch.
By now more than half the cafe was staring at us. Julie just looked around
the room and kept right on laughing. With a sudden jerk, she shot out her
arm and grabbed a handful of the sweetener packets out of the porcelain
bowl on the table and proceeded to throw the little pink, white and blue
wads at the other customers. When she emptied our bowl, she invaded the
table next to us and rapidly fired off all of theirs as well.
When both bowls of ammunition were empty, she jumps onto our table
and began a new assault with half and half creamers. Everyone was shouting
and blocking, but she kept right on going. Then, without provocation, her
attention was diverted to the kitchen. She leaped from the table like a cat
and scrambled through the doorway. Now, I didn't actually see her strip,
but one by one her various articles of clothing came flying back into the
cafe. Someone in back was yelling, "Leave those alone and get outta here."
Then her voice shouting, "Your mailman has gravy in his shoes!"
Julie came bursting back into the cafe, stark naked save her socks
and a rubber glove she'd stretched over her head. She sprinted to the
front doors dodging the scattered tables and plowed her way outside.
Before the doors shut, we saw her take off down the street screaming
"I'm a squid! I'm a squid!"
Two guys in the corner applauded, and some girl burst out laughing
but everyone else was staring at me as if I could even begin to explain
what had just happened. The waiter had come back to the table without me
noticing. He stood beside me, sporting the same bewildered expression I
must have had. He chuckled a little, then turned to me and said, "I think
we should take it off the menu now."
-Wednesday
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