Jourinalism at it's finest.

Ms. Moure?
Yes…um, where’s that other guy?

I’m afraid your last conversation with him left somewhat of a bad taste in his mouth. You’ve been re-assigned to me. May I?
You may. Starbucks, like the rest of the world, is a free country.

Right. I thought you were a writer; you are a self proclaimed “wordsmith”, and yet you just said that Starbucks is a country and the entire world is free. Clearly you are unaware of Cuba.
Whatever. I’m so freakin’ hung over. And I wondered why he wanted to meet here. Fucking Starbucks—look at them. They’re fucking retarded. Like look at that barista right there, the one at the bar—he has no concept of call order whatsoever. He just called out a tall-decaf-iced-two-pump-nonfat-mocha.

And he just served an iced-decaf-tall-nonfat-no-whip-two-pump-mocha.

Alan told me of your impeccable memory.
Who the fuck is Alan?

Ha ha. The gentleman from our publication that has interviewed you twice previously. Apparently your memory is not as good as I was told.
Damnit. Now you’ve gone and tried to make me look stupid and are forcing me to admit that I was just trying to avoid that whole topic.

Your memory?

I thought that was just a rumor around the office.
Nope. One hundred percent true.

Doesn’t that strike you as a bit unprofessional?
Dude, I seriously don’t like you. Alan was funny, and wasn’t judgemental. And really good in bed. You strike me as someone who I would never ever sleep with.

Fantastic. Can we move on?

Tell me about David Hodson.
What is this, some kind of tabloid? You are fucking retarded. And goddamnit! That fucking barista just called out a grande-no-foam-nonfat-latte. Goddamnit that is so fucking irritating.

Why would you assume this is some kind of tabloid if I ask about David?
Because that is an inherently boring line of questioning; because you think it’s sensational and it’s not. Davey is my ex-boyfriend’s best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

He’s what?
Oh my god—keep up, please? I dated Matthew a grillion years ago. His best friend is Katie. Katie is Davey’s ex girlfriend. Dig?

And Nicholas Mathisen?
Same deal. There is a string of people involving the three of us.

Samantha Oldfield?
Dude, is this a tabloid or a yearbook? What’s your point.

I’m using a journalistic device to try and bring you to a greater truth. To get the real story.
Yeah, that’s not working. I also think you meant Jour-in-al-istic. Haha.

You know, people want to know. They want to know the end of all of this. Do you think it’s already happened?
No. I don’t think so. It’s too good for the end to have happened.

You’re going to have to spit it out eventually.
Wait…aren’t you going to ask about something important? Recent conquests? Stuff on the horizon? Whether words are real or not? Dude, I miss Alan. You fucking suck at this, and you want to meet at fucking Starbucks. This place irritates the fuck out of me.

Because you used to work here.

That’s how you met your mom, right?
Right. She was one of my customers. She’s freakin’ amazing. I should call her.

Your sister called you yesterday.
Yeah, how did you know? That fucking bitch hasn’t called back yet.

Which sister was it?
Well, I thought it was fucking Mirchelle, but now that she hasn’t called back I’m wondering who it was. She was like ‘hey it’s your sister’ so I figured it was her ‘cause she’s too thick to realize that could be like…thirty people. She still thinks she’s special. She’s not. She’s just a mid thirties unmarried conserva-whore.

Whoa. Okay. Conservawhore?
Talk to Nick about that one. He’s good at stuff like that. If you aren’t getting it, I’m not gonna define it for you.

It was Mirchelle.
What was?

That called. I checked your call logs.
Oh. Okay. How did you do that?

Very carefully.
Ahh. And what else did you learn?

You’ve been talking to Matthew.
WHAT? Dude, you’re really not good at this. I haven’t spoken to him since my 24th birthday. His 21st.

Then who are you speaking to in Olympia?
Uhh…no one.

Oh. Oh, I totally get it. Yeah, you’re pretty off dude. 360 is a big place buddy.

Ah, well, it was worth a shot.
No, no it wasn’t. You’re completely stupid and have no concept of how this should go. Tell Alan I’m not dealing with anyone but him from now on. Seriously. Seriously.

That’s awfully convenient.
Yes. Yes it is.


1 comment:

Sam said...

Whose ass do I need to kick for you? Proverbial or otherwise, this question asker guy needs to get it.
Maybe we should have him meet us in the Tenderloin, ask if he wants us to make him a sandwich, simultaneously punch him in each eye, and then run away laughing, slinging the drinks we made him buy us.
Tee hee.

I love you.