I am sitting in Gorilla Coffee, 5th Avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn. It’s Saturday; I’m reading the papers, the usual punk-rock soundtrack plays in the background.
There’s a guy sitting behind me talking on his cell phone to his kid. He’s attempting to level authority through a cell tower transmission.
My mother once calls my dad an armchair disciplinarian. What do you call this guy?
As final ultimatum he brings out the count down.
“On a count of three,” he says into his cell phone, “I want you to be quiet.”
one. Two. THREE.
I’m not sure if this quiets the kid down, but it stops conversation at the coffee shop.
Nobody wants to hear a count down unless it’s a rocket launch, or a rock band.
His pleading continues, now louder.
I turn to him and say: “On a count of three, I want you to be quiet.”
one. Two. THREE.
The whole place, including the staff, starts laughing.
Monday, January 14, 2008
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