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29 september 2000

creepy coffeehouse guy

So I go to the coffeehouse this evening for a poetry get-together. This is the coffeehouse where a lot of neato people used to hang out, before the original owners sold out. Unfortunately, the place has gone downhill for several reasons, not the least of which it's just one big whopping smoking section. And it's been one for about six years now. We're talking about some built-up funk, y'all.

When you live in Winston-Salem (or anywhere in North Carolina, for that matter,) you either deal with the fact that a lot of people smoke. Or, you don't, and you have a lot of people looking at you funny and saying, "deal with it." This is a tobacco state, God bless us, and you breathe at your own risk. Wheeze on!

Anyway, there I am at the coffeehouse that I've started to avoid unless something fun is happening. The glass cases covering the bagels are filmy with nicotine. The walls are yellowed. Even the coffee beans sometimes taste...smoky. Once you leave the place, you immediately begin to experience nicotine withdrawal symptoms, tuck yourself into bed with a nice transdermal patch, and hope for the best. Personally, I take a shower when I get home to rid my hair of the stench. You think Saturday night bar stink is bad? You haven't been here. It's downright rank.

So, when your coffeehouse begins to go downhill, the regular clientele starts to reflect the place, as well. Replacing the diverse, all-ages crowd that used to hang out here are a bunch of people that I swear are holding "homeless -- please help" signs at local intersections. Most of them are young types. Some are alleged students. A handful are middle-aged guys. Another bunch brings their pets inside. They wear no shoes and still get service.

I guess I could handle all of them better if a small number of them weren't just flat scary. Like, the guy you passed as a kid and your mom pulled you closer to her scary. I don't know this one fellow's name (people have taken to calling him, "Stony"), but he's the ookiest of them all. He stands about five-ten, looks to be worn-out mid-fifties, has no teeth, and wears a lot of v-necked t-shirts. (Note to the guys: DON'T DO THAT.)

This guy's face is classic, though. The thing is, if he were clean, had teeth, and didn't talk to napkin holders; he would be one hell of a character actor. He has the most distinctive face in town. In fact, I think it's what earned him the name "Stony". Everything is severe --- the deep crevices in his skin, the pointed, prominent nose; the jutting chin, and the low, excessive brow. If you think of the Easter Island statues and age them about fifty years, that's Stony. You can't help but look, but don't dare make eye contact. I warned you --- don't do it, especially if you're a girl.

Stony likes girls.

I made the mistake of casually saying, "hello" to him one day, then returning to my coffee and newspaper. For the next hour, Stony decided that I was going to be his buddy. Now, there are people that you talk to because you kind of feel sorry for, right? They're sweet and harmless and they innocently enjoy your company. Then there are creepy old dudes who tell you that they'd love to have you drop by their place at the rooming house, so they can show you their bottle cap collection.

Stony was there tonight in his v-necked t-shirt, chain-smoking and looking at poetry girls. And like clockwork, he found himself a newbie. Some new student who made eye contact, and was wearing a short skirt to boot. Poor thing. Gave him a cigarette and everything. Chatted him up. Started to look concerned twenty minutes into the chat. Realized she had made a mistake. Moved toward the door. Left at the first opportunity.

There are a few other coffeeshops in town. They're clean, fresh, and don't have filmy bagels. No one smokes. Children can be sighted in them. They sell chai and a bunch of herbal teas that cure diseases I didn't even know I had. They're just delightful.

I never go to them. If nothing else, my occasional visits to the oft-ooky place are a reminder of life at unexpected angles. There's nothing like an odd cup of coffee where no one blends in. Sometimes, the goal is just to sit, finish, and keep them wondering.