Breakfast At Tiffany's




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LA's Oral Fixation of Choice

Part of: LA , Seinfeld-esque

Breakfast: a slice of cantaloupe and black coffee

I stopped by Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in Malibu the other day. I had just had an Ice Blended Mocha™ the day before and was already craving one again. I used to get them all the time, but I burned out on them a few years ago.

“Sugar-free Ice Blended Mocha™ with soy, please.” I am anti-sugar substitutes, but I felt guilty because I already had something sugary for breakfast.

The barista had a short blond bob and looked about 16. I wondered if she was as virginal as she looked.

“Do you think this shirt looks good on me?”

The gentleman next in line was talking to me.

“I can take it back. I mean, you’re obviously very fashionable. Does it look pink to you?”

His shirt was the same color as his ruddy complexion. “Um, it’s not the best color on you,” I said trying to assess what colors would look good on him. I had no clue.

He stuck his hand out. “I’m Rudy.”

Omigod, he was hitting on me, and he was definitely in his late 70’s. Gross. Before I had the chance to run away, he rambled on.

“Yeah, I’m a comedian, psychiatrist, and I’m in real estate.”

Maybe he was just a comic working on his material.

“That’s a lot. Where do you do comedy?” I asked.

I think he mumbled, “The Improv.” Yeah, right. I’m sure he invested in real estate and was not in that profession either.

Rudy sensed that he was losing me. He opened his wallet and showed me some kind of Medical office or hospital card with his name on it. The city on it was Tarzana.

“I was just seeing a patient out here. I have an office in Pacific Palisades, too. Hey, can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“I already ordered one.”

“What about dinner?”

I didn’t say anything and started walking away. Rudy whipped out a large reference book and stuck it in my face. It said something about children, adolescents and mental health. What parent would let this schmuck treat their kids?

“That’s nice,” I said and went to talk to my buddy where the pick up counter was. He rolled his eyes at me, and I gave him a half smile.

“How’s it going?” I said.

“Same old, same old,” he answered handing me my drink.

I took a big sip of it and made a face.

“This is nasty. It tastes like water with a tiny bit of hot chocolate mix.”

“The sugar-free definitely has an after taste, and I’m not a fan of soy. It’s so dumb that they call it soy milk. Soy is a bean. It should be called bean liquid,” he exclaimed.

“I don’t know about that. Bean liquid doesn’t sound appetizing,” I answered.

I took another sip of my drink. It was still icky. I made another face.

“Do you want me to make you a regular one?” he suggested.

“Please,” I said and tossed my drink in the trash. “I hate wasting food.”

“Well, that’s not exactly food,” he offered.

I guess he was right. The drink would probably kill a starving person.


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