Saturday was rough. I mentioned as much. Sunday was brighter in my head, but not outside. Today, I feel refreshed and ready to embrace. Partially because Missy is coming to visit me on Friday, partially because I went to yoga three times last week, and partially because being so damn depressed all the time really sucks. And I’m getting wrinkles. That said, I woke up with a positive outlook. Though, apparently it’s still under construction.
I was exiting the Muni this morning, waiting for my phone to pick up a signal so I could return Missy’s call from earlier, when I noticed the crepe place directly to my left. I have always wondered about this crepe place and usually I don’t stop because usually I don’t carry any cash. Next to the four thousand other things about myself I find entirely too irritating, I never seem to carry cash. I visit the Money Access Center several times a week, but still I never seem to have any money. So I never stop to check out the crepe situation. I always fear crepe and credit card rejection.
Today, I have money. So as I stood there, waiting for my turn, staring down at my phone waiting for the ….searching to go away and my imaginary cell phone beam to find a home, the small very stylish, asian hottie standing behind the counter says to me, “What can I get you?” his voice featuring a tinge of irritation. I wanted the first one. It was called “The Monterey”.
I need to back up a minute. I know how to say that word, there are many words I know HOW to say, however, for some reason, and I’ll never be sure why, I get stage fright when reading aloud. I say the word in my head “M-O-N-T-E-R-R-A-Y. Monterey.” And all is well. But when my face goes to expel such a word, it tends to screw it up. And this happens to me all the time. It’s like my brain, my lips and their captive tongue don’t really get along, they fight for what’s correct usually losing to what’s wrong. For example, the other day, while in the video story my head says, “Hey! Toby.” And then my lips, for reasons still unknown to me, say, “Hey! Hey, Tony!”
That’s my husband I’m referring to here, not some half-sandwich, half-omelette sort of thing. I don’t even really know any Tony’s.
“Hello? What can I get you? Do you know what you’d like?” He asks again.
“Yes, I’ll have the Mont-er-eeee. Please.” I knew I messed up. I knew it right away. But it’s Monday, and I’m ready to kick California, take a hair dryer to San Francisco’s fog, and I’m lonely.
He barks back, loudly, his head tilted like one of those prissy poodles with bows, “It’s the M-O-N-T-E-R-A. AY. A. New to California, are we?” He head wobbles a little, eyes rolling around like marbles to the right and to the left. I wait a minute, refusing to make eye contact with the crepe guy, ready to cry. Thinking, “Just send me home, bitch.”
Finally, I say, “Sorry. Yes. Yes, I am.”
What I failed to mention thus far, because I’m not rude (usually), is that he had a piece of egg dangling from his bottom lip. And normally I would have waited for someone else working the crepe stand to tell him about the lamprey. But this time, I seized upon it like Cujo.
Still without making any eye contact, I say “You have a piece of food hanging from your lip.”
He wipes the egg away and turns his head in a huff. I take my change from him and tilt my head back towards the ground where it belongs. I can feel the burning stares from other crepe-buyers moving in around me like fog, making me feel more and more like an outsider buying crepes on a Monday morning. I take three steps to my right and wait for my Monday Monterey, secretly hoping for a swift push from behind and a New York City side of sarcasm.
Mihow 
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