Jacob Grier

What is it about latte art that just destroys my masculinity?

Chad and I are hanging out at the coffee shop. I’m chatting with a girl when Chad walks up with a rather sad looking latte.

Chad: “What’s with this?”

Me: “That doesn’t look too good. Who made that?”

Chad: [Points to the barista at the bar.]

Me: “That’s weird. She’s usually good. Oh well, nobody bats a hundred.”

Chad: [Starts to say something, thinks better of it.]

…

Chad, several hours later: “I do appreciate the effort, but just so you know, you should probably avoid trying to use sports metaphors in front of women.”

Me: “Damn it!”

Cute, flirty female customer: “I love the way you pour the designs into the drinks.”

Me: “Thanks.”

Her: “I’ve been trying to do that at home, but I can’t get the hang of it. What do you do, just steam the milk a whole lot?”

Me: “Well, yeah. But the really important thing is that you get the milk to recirculate over itself, really working the air into it. You know, like you’re making meringue.”

*** crickets ***

Her: [Ooh, he’s gay.]

Me: [Damn it!]

Me: “So, um, have a good day.”

Her: “Yeah, you too.”

Actual dialogue between me and cute female Kerry supporter in Clarendon today:

Her: [Winks as I approach the corner.]

Me: [Smiles back.]

Her: [Now crossing street with me.] I don’t normally ask this to people crossing the street, but I could tell a mile away that you’d like to help defeat Bush.

Me: I would, actually, but not so much by voting for Kerry.

Her: Oh, you’re a Nader supporter.

Me: No, no, I’m a libertarian, but our guy’s a kook this year.

Her: You’re just like my dad.

Actual conversation with the girl at the table next to me at Common Grounds today…

Her: “Could you tell me the time again?”

Me: “Sure, no problem.”

*awkward silence*

Her, repeating: “Could you tell me the time?”

Me: “Oh, you mean now.”

There are a few things I could say in my defense, but I think I’ll just leave it at that.

In other news, today was my first day on the job. And you know what I found on my desk? A one pound box of rubber bands. Associates from my previous internship know that this is a bad, bad, very bad idea.