There’s a cool, quirky little coffee shop off 12th avenue here in Pensacola called “et Cafe”. It has a lot of character and a lot of characters. It’s way laid back and about as far away from a corporate franchise as you can get.
For example, I was in a little while back and ordered a coffee and a sandwich. As I was paying, it hit me that the price sounded a little high. I was charged for two coffees instead of one. The guy behind the counter was apologetic but he had already run my card. He said, “How about a free coffee next time you come in?” Fine with me.
So I’m expecting a little business card style gift card or something. But instead, he rips a piece of paper out of a notebook and writes this note.
“Dude! Brian Butler should totally get 1 12 oz coffee for my messup!” Sincerely, Joseph aka Stu.
I Love It! Although I’m really not clear about why I love it. I’ve carried this note in my wallet for weeks now and have yet to exchange it for a coffee. Probably never will.
BLB
My day doesn’t usually start at a National Landmark fielding pointed questions from armed security. This was one of those rare mornings when it did.
We’re on a family trip to the N-Y-C. It’s the first time Julie and I have taken the girls along with us to our favorite city and we’re about to begin a big day with a trip to the Statue of Liberty.
I bought tickets online before the trip and made the reservations for the very first ferry of the day. Beat the crowds. Beat the heat. I’m a genius. But there’s a hitch. We’re staying in the beautiful Upper West Side and the ferry leaves from the extreme Southern tip of Manhattan. We’re gonna have to get an early start.
We crawl out of bed in the morning, get dressed and grab a quick breakfast. The kids aren’t really hungry so they don’t eat much. Julie and I know we don’t want hungry kids dragging through the morning so I stick some snacks in my bag, grab a couple more to put in my pockets and we’re out the door.
After a long, early morning subway ride we make it downtown and head to the pier. We already have tickets so we get to skip that line and go straight to the security line. You know those winding lines in amusement parks. It’s just like that. Only instead of a roller coaster, you’re waiting for a metal detector. Wooooo!
We wait and walk as the line inches forward until we eventually make it to the security checkpoint. After Julie and the girls get through, I put my bag on the conveyor belt and it begins its short trip to x-ray land. I keep everything in my bag. Camera, keys, phone. All my metal detector triggers. So when I walk through the metal detector and nothing goes beep-beep, I think I’m good to go. I gather my gear on the other side and prepare to meet Lady Liberty.
But as I start to walk away, a security guard motions me over to the side. She and her partner seem like nice enough ladies but at this moment, they’re looking very serious. The sidearms punctuate their seriousness.
“Is there something wrong officer?” (I actually said that. Like some bad movie line.) Anyway, apparently something is wrong. I’ve aroused suspicion. The officer points at me and asks the strangest question. “What’s that there? In your pants.” My eyes dart down and I’m confused for a second. Then it hits me. This is going to be awkward.
I ask the officers if I can show them and they nod, although, and I’m not making this up, they each put their hands on their holsters. I ease my hand into my pocket, pull out the offending object and show it to the ladies. They both crack up. Actual giggles from officers of the law. There’s a banana in my pocket. I, am a walking punch line.
Now I’m laughing too and I even say the “line” out loud. (I used a horrible Groucho Marx accent. Anyone who has heard me try knows, I can’t do accents. But they didn’t seem to mind.) The officers wave me on as the laughter continues and I leave to catch up to the family.
Julie was waiting up ahead and wondering what the heck was going on. When I told her what happened, she of course got a heavy case of the giggles too. Still makes her laugh today. We affectionately refer to my Statue of Liberty interrogation as, The Chiquita Inquisition.
A good while after the C.I. and after I’d told the story a few times, something dawns on me. I had that banana in my pocket all morning. During the walk from the hotel to the station. During the long subway ride. During the walk to the pier. During the long wait in line. And what I realize is this. Not once does Julie say anything about it. So we have two options. Either she saw the fruit in my looms and just didn’t say anything. That’s unlikely because she would not have let that go. Or option two, she just didn’t notice the entire morning. Not even a glance. Frankly, that bothers me a little bit.
BLB
Icing on the Cake
My daughter is working on an essay about what we can do to save the planet. Quite possibly the most popular essay topic in every school in the country right now. But that’s not the subject of this story.
She’s a very good writer and that’s not just your average proud papa talk. She’s really good. But this essay is different. It’s part of a district wide contest with the winner at each school receiving a $100 savings bond. My daughter is stressing herself out about winning the thing and I’m trying to do the parent pep-talk thing. Trying to get her to focus on writing and not worry so much about winning or losing.
“Do your best sweetie and the rest will take care of itself. So many factors play into winning or losing so try not to think about it and just do your best.” But I don’t want to completely discount the contest so I add, “If you do your best and you end up winning, it will just be icing on the cake.”
Then I get that look. Eyes squint. Lips purse. The wheels are turning and I’m in trouble. Turns out she has a problem with the well worn idiom Icing on the Cake. Seems pretty simple to me. A little something extra on top of an already good thing. Nice. But the daughter sees it differently. Maybe it says something about the times we live in or maybe it’s just our family but what she asked was this. Who eats cake without icing? To her (and quite honestly to me too) icing is not extra. It’s essential to a cake being a cake.
So she hears the opposite of what I’m trying to say. The cake is not complete without the icing. The essay is not complete without the win. I do my best to rework what I’m trying to get across and explain it a different way but now I’m just mumble-ramblin’. As I leave her room, I close the door and the discussion with, “Just do your best sweetie.”
Part of the beauty of being a dad is having this little slice of me asking questions that I have trouble answering. Looking at even the simplest, idiotic idiom in a brand new way. That is so cool.
So that was a few weeks ago and guess what, I got bailed out on this one. She won the essay competition at her school. The results came in today. I told you she was good. $100 Savings Bond and she’s going down to an awards ceremony at City Hall with the winners from the other schools in the district. She’s so happy she’s glowing. And so am I. Oh, and she’s also getting her picture made with the mayor while she’s there. I guess that’s just icing on the cake.
BLB
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