Thank-You Letters to the Other Coffee Shop Occupants
Small expressions of gratitude for the experiences you’ve thrust upon me against my will.
Dear indifferent mom,
Thank you for the front-row tickets to your guerrilla-theatre interpretation of The French Revolution. The air of total apathy you exuded as your hell-spawn toppled a tower of coffee-themed greeting cards was a performance worthy of Brando. That’s not to say that I was not also impressed by your progeny. I was imbued with the same feelings of rage and resentment that the sans-cullotes must have felt toward the Ancien Régime as his shouts of “SMASHED IT!” rang through the cafe like he’d just stormed the Bastille. Your seamless blending of genres was an unexpected, but delightful garnish. I barely remained in my seat as the tension built during the second act, in which your son repeatedly asked every stranger in the vicinity to guess his favorite animal. The seeming innocence of the question, when repeated ad nauseum, created an atmosphere of menace even as it evoked the old Rumpelstiltskin tale. For a moment, the possibility that guessing correctly might banish him back to Hell like some horrible imp seemed like a real contingency rather than just a pleasant daydream. That sort of audience interaction is hard to come by, and I truly thank you for involving me in the parenting that you couldn’t be bothered…
