November 4, 2011: Friday morning in the D.C.

Walked into the Starbucks on the corner of 6th and C Southwest and stood in line behind two very old white male gay caballeros with burr haircuts who looked like they had had a long night. One looked and sounded very masculine right down to the details of his craggy face but the other couldn’t look or sound masculine in his mother’s eyes.

Did I mention that this Starbucks in located in a Holiday Inn? And that there was a bunch of school kids on a field trip to the Capitol of the Greatest Nation on Earth and a large crowd of old folks, mostly old women, from some apparently Southern Baptist Church who are here try to bring the word of God to an otherwise Godless Congress milling around waiting for their coffee and morning sugar fixes?   Yeah.  Well, I did say this is Friday morning in D.C.  Moving on…

The fellows seemed pleasant enough and were talking about their day to come. The one with the craggy face could have been anyone’s grandfather but the other gentlemen had mannerisms and a flaming brogue straight out of a bad RuPaul sitcom. My thoughts wandered to my police days and I thought, “I’ve arrested transvestite prostitutes at 6th and Hill who could learn something from this guy.”

But, enough professional banter and back to the story.

While they were waiting for their coffee, the waitress, a typical Babe-alonia on the Potomac African American babe looked up and said, “Hi, baby.”

The man replied, “Hi baby” to her, too, but now his brogue shifted into a White Male RuPaul Imitator trying to imitate a black male gangsta rapper speaking from the heart of the hood.

She got their coffees confused and handed the Faux RuPaul the coffee with cream and he pushed it back saying, “Oh baby, nooooooo. I like my coffee hot and black, like my men.”

And the Babe-alonia on the Potomac Babe behind the counter replied, without blinking, “Me, too!”

They both commented on “What a coincidence,” the Church lady waiting for her caramel cappuccino frappe with a squirt blanched and the two old gentlemen went on their way.

The Starbucks Barista Babe looked at me, laughing and shaking her head, “So, what’s your preference this morning, Boo?”

“Black women, hot and sweet. Like one I’m married to.”

She glanced at the two backs disappearing out the door, smiled broadly, shook her head and said, “I know that’s right.”

Yep. Just another Friday morning in D.C.

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One of the few Great American Literary Wannabes that knows he ain't.
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