About the time I began to think that coffee shops are pretty much the best things ever, this happened: Random strange guy looking at Rhett coloring our comic. Random strange guy looking at Rhett… and then at me. Random strange guy begins to open mouth. Horror of horrors, words begin to come out. Yipes!
This is a dramatic representation of what happened next.
Trying to appear unremarkable I sat drinking my coffee and holding on to my notebook and pen. It has always been my belief that if I look scared enough people will just leave me alone. Either this is a false assumption, or I am a complete and utter failure at appearing terrified of the world around me. Rhett sat quietly coloring in the comic strip he was working on. He, having no fear of people whatsoever, occasionally sang to the radio and I tried to stop myself from trying to figure out how many people were looking at us due to this. The drawings on the table seemed harmless to me, even comforting. That is, until a strange and ominous looking man hulked over to our table to leer down at them. His eyes, ogled the page and he finally began to ask a string of questions shot at us like bullets flying from a firing squad. I looked at Rhett assuming he would take the bullets for me. He would be a gentleman and help out a poor, innocent, victim such as myself. Wouldn’t he? No. He would not. The traitor kept coloring a look of meniacle enjoyment on his face. The man kept asking questions. By this point, my hands were shaking and my pulse racing. Why do strangers talk to meek looking girls who obviously have terrible phobias of everything? He did not relent. He pushed on. Finally, he got what he wanted: a release date, a website, my soul… all written on a 3 x 5 card.
I demand two things: Someone to speak to strangers for me and business cards so I do not have to speak as much when it is required and I have to write nothing.