“Anita, coffee!!” was a constant refrain at the coffee shop where Anita had been working for ten years.
“If I didn’t know better,” she told Harvey, a regular, “I’d swear my full name was Anita Coffee.”
“What’s your full name?” he asked.
“Anita Cappuccino,” she replied.
“Knowing it would annoy her, Eunice said, ‘I understand. Every day, it’s the same grind.'”
“Floyd contributed his share, “It may never amount to a hill of beans.”
Suddenly a new customer put some money into the jukebox. Not surprisingly, the song he played was Al Hirt’s “Java.”
It simply wasn’t Anita’s day.
Welcome back yet again to Rochelle’s weekly Friday Fictioneers, wherein this week Jilly Funell supplies the photo prompt.
“Here’s the park where famous threesomes, real and fictional, congregate,” Ralph told Sam, to the latter’s incredulity.
“Oh yeah,” Ralph went on. “They have Stooges, Wise Men, Blind Mice, Musketeers~you name it.“
“In their world they have a weird sense of humor, so often the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, or the Magnificent Seven, will try to sneak in.”
“Naturally,” Sam admitted. “I especially like the Three Witches from ‘MacBeth.'”
“Don’t let their cutesy rhymes fool you,” Ralph warned. “They can be trouble.”
“Oh, absolutely!” Sam conceded.
This went on for a while as Sam continued to listen politely.
Here we are, yet again, for Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle leads us weekly in our hundred~word story based upon a photo prompt. This week’s prompt has been provided by Fatima Fakir Deria
Guadalupe (Lupita) Martinez was a young, lovely resident of Lindenhurst, N.Y., and an employee of the Acme Corporation on Wellwood Avenue in the middle of her Long Island village. With all her beauty, elegance, grace, intelligence, sophistication and education though, she thought it quite difficult to find a decent man. One day, her two best friends, Jenny Randy and Sharon Ferdinand, sick and tired of her non stop whining about her supposed impending spinsterhood, presumed to take it upon themselves to fix her up with a real gentleman. After having asked several other friends for help, they managed to end up with Sharon’s cousin Reginald who, they’d hoped, would strike her as at least an interesting decent guy. As it turns out, though, Reginald was a bit of a character, to put it as politely as possible. Having just broken up with his girlfriend, Rachel, he was more than somewhat prone toward irrational tendencies. His emotions overtook him so that he soon fancied himself a long-lost member of ancient Irish royalty. Lupita, though, having known nothing of his weird ways, never suspected anything when she took her friends up on their offer. At 8:00 on Friday night, she showed up, as agreed, at Katie Daly’s on Merrick Road in Massapequa, politely awaiting the arrival of her suitor. She thought it was going to be a typical blind date until she noticed his bodyguards. It turns out that he had really started to go entirely overboard with his latest fantasy. There he stood, all prim and proper, before her, in what he assumed was traditional ancient Irish garb. The poor fellow spent the entire night regaling her with stories of the spurious adventures of long-ago druids and other mythological characters, each of whom existed only in his hyperactive imagination. He drove Lupita crazy but she didn’t have the nerve to risk hurting his feelings. She felt awfully bad about how nasty a time she was having. After it was all over she went home, relieved to be free of him. The next day, when she got in touch with her friends, Sharon told her: “At least it’s only a once in a lifetime occurrence”. “You can count on an absolute guarantee of that!”, snapped Guadalupe.
If I should have ever had the ability to be only one part man and two parts something else, I should have wanted to be two parts coffee. Just think of all the exceptionally interesting possibilities of such a lovely arrangement. It’s always been quite a very favorite thing of mine anyway. For one thing everyone so thoroughly enjoys its aroma that I could save quite an exceptionally large sum of money that would otherwise have been squandered on deodorant, toothpaste, soap and cologne. People could ask : “Hey what smells so nice?” and then realize that : “Hey it’s good old Coffee Larry!”. Up until now one of my most significant nicknames has always been B.L.T. If I were part coffee people could call be B.L.T. and coffee. That might provoke quite an awful lot of confusion at restaurants though. A waitress would walk over to someone’s table and ask him innocently: “Sir, would you like our specialty today, a B.L.T. with coffee?” and there would be lots of hurt feelings if I couldn’t show up.
In order to be as fair as possible, I should very much like to have a switch built into me so that I could change over from regular to decaffeinated in case I’m ever in the company of someone who doesn’t get to sleep very much. Everyone knows what a big problem that is. Lately I’ve been going to the Coffee Nut Cafe a lot so maybe I could take advantage of some ideas I’ve gotten from them. I could have all different kinds of flavors and serving sizes. I could have a switch for flavors from places like Italy, Costa Rica, Ireland, Peru and even Queens. People would gasp upon tasting it an exclaim: “O Wow!! This Queens flavor is something else!! It makes me feel as if I’m right over in Jackson Heights!!” A lot of people enjoy their coffee black but a lot of people like milk or some other flavoring. I’d be happy to provide all sorts of things like that. I’d be determined to have all sorts of whipped cream,cappuccino chocolate and anything else that could keep things as interesting as possible. It would even be a good idea to pack a supply of Jameson’s, anise and other alcoholic drinks in case anyone might enjoy some Irish coffee, espresso or anything else with a bit of a kick. It’s too bad I can’t be coffee. I’d truly be welcome everywhere.
“I’m so sick and tired of all the cheap shots we sheep get!” gasped Ernest T. Folks always claim we’re bad but it’s them goats, rams and wolves (who dress like us) that are the troublemakers. Besides that they think we’re sycophantically obedient but we’re just good.”
“O relax!”, replied his wife Mabel. “They mean well. They just have to loosen up a bit.”
“Just think though, honey. When was the last time you ever once heard of someone’s being ‘on the lam(b)’ for a good reason?”, he snapped back.
I wrote this as a rebuttal of Rochelle’s less than flattering assumptions about sheep. They can be quite the totally hep characters.