Coffee Break
During a lazy Sunday-afternoon walk around Yaletown, I crossed paths, multiple times it turns out, with a family of extraordinary dysfunctional proportions.
Actually, to be fair, they may normally be a fairly well-adjusted lot, but they were obviously tourists, and apparently had been wandering the streets of downtown Vancouver for long enough on a misty Sunday morning to have become quite cranky.
The first pass with the father, mother, and grown daughter provided a taste of dialogue as follows:
"You want to stop sometime soon?"
"Sure. A cup of coffee or something?"
"Alright, or a small bite to eat."
"Next place we see?"
I didn't pay them much attention. That is, until I passed them a second time, at the intersection of Mainland and Helmcken, where they stood practically in the middle of the street staring, quite literally, staring at a brick wall.
"There's a Starbucks."
"That doesn't count."
"What do you mean?"
"It's a Starbucks, Dad. Jesus, what do you expect? Let's at least find a real cafe or something."
At which point, based on the rate of their walking and stopping, I intercepted them several more times.
"I want you to tell me what's wrong with a Starbucks?!?"
"There's bound to be something right up here."
"Fine! You just find your quaint little French fucking cafe and let me know how that turns out for you."
"Fine."
"Fine."
The She and I turned to each other.
"Would your father ever talk to you like that?"
"No way."
"That's what I thought."
At this point I decided that I no longer owed them the courtesy of restraining from staring, so I stopped to see what happened.
They continued.
"I'm not walking another block! I'm stopping here. You two just walk wherever the fuck you want to, but you're doing it without me."
"But Dad, there's a cafe right here."
"I can't see it from where I'm standing. I don't believe you. I'm just going to stay here on the corner."
The mother and daughter made their way into the (apparently) brand new Death by Chocolate and adjoining coffee bar. The father sat on the corner, presumably dreaming up new ways to throw a temper tantrum and verbally abuse his family.
Actually, to be fair, they may normally be a fairly well-adjusted lot, but they were obviously tourists, and apparently had been wandering the streets of downtown Vancouver for long enough on a misty Sunday morning to have become quite cranky.
The first pass with the father, mother, and grown daughter provided a taste of dialogue as follows:
"You want to stop sometime soon?"
"Sure. A cup of coffee or something?"
"Alright, or a small bite to eat."
"Next place we see?"
I didn't pay them much attention. That is, until I passed them a second time, at the intersection of Mainland and Helmcken, where they stood practically in the middle of the street staring, quite literally, staring at a brick wall.
"There's a Starbucks."
"That doesn't count."
"What do you mean?"
"It's a Starbucks, Dad. Jesus, what do you expect? Let's at least find a real cafe or something."
At which point, based on the rate of their walking and stopping, I intercepted them several more times.
"I want you to tell me what's wrong with a Starbucks?!?"
"There's bound to be something right up here."
"Fine! You just find your quaint little French fucking cafe and let me know how that turns out for you."
"Fine."
"Fine."
The She and I turned to each other.
"Would your father ever talk to you like that?"
"No way."
"That's what I thought."
At this point I decided that I no longer owed them the courtesy of restraining from staring, so I stopped to see what happened.
They continued.
"I'm not walking another block! I'm stopping here. You two just walk wherever the fuck you want to, but you're doing it without me."
"But Dad, there's a cafe right here."
"I can't see it from where I'm standing. I don't believe you. I'm just going to stay here on the corner."
The mother and daughter made their way into the (apparently) brand new Death by Chocolate and adjoining coffee bar. The father sat on the corner, presumably dreaming up new ways to throw a temper tantrum and verbally abuse his family.