Books-A-Million, 6:37 p.m. – My smoking hot barista, let me show you him

Remember way back in the dawn of antiquity, when 21 Minutes started, and I came to Books-A-Million? There was a hot, hot barista working here. I’ve been back a few times and never seen him, so I figured he’d moved on.

Not so. Not so. He’s right here now, pacing back and forth in front of me in his little indie musician black hair shag and wearing his thrift store-best shirt and green pants. That three-day-old beard looks incredibly hot. And he’s wearing that indie-rock slash skaterboi standby – a pair of Vans. A bit corporate indie rock, but cute nonetheless.

Plus, I’m just a sucker for a man with a tattoo, and he’s got one down the entirety of his right arm. There’s a very graphic pattern with swirls and loops and stylized flowers. He’s also got what looks like a bright red sunburst around his elbow. That must have hurt.

OH MY GOD. Howler monkeys. Excessively loud ones. Really people. Please do not be shopping with your howlers. Leave them at home – preferably in the care of Sweeney Todd or something. Anywhere but in my immediate vicinity.

There’s a decrepit old wreck of a man wearing a pink shirt slumped at a table in the Joe Muggs café. I think he’s reading, but he could just be mumbling to himself as he’s turning pages.

Oh. Hot Barista boy is just trying to start something here. He’s gnawing on a straw and bounding up and down on his heels. One does not need that particular imagery at this moment.

Oh my Kali. There’s a chunky suburban mother with hundred-pound brat in tow. The child has on a camouflage hoodie, bright green boxer shorts – like what boxers wear into the ring – and flip flops. And it’s about fifty degrees outside. Bad fashion begins at home.

In the past two minutes, I’ve seen two guys give each other the eye and then head into the bathroom. Now I remember why we always used to call Books-A-Million “tricks-a-million.” Every bookstore in America is a pick-up joint for gay men.

I would like to comment again on the disservice that Books-A-Million does toward laptop users. Just like the Barnes & Noble, there is only one plug-in in the entire café area – at the bar facing a giant cooler.

I’m fighting for counter space with a stack of board games, a cake stand and a box of plastic wrap. Apparently, the comfortable chairs are reserved for patrons who aren’t planning to sit for a while. Why bother to create an inviting space for laptop users if you don’t want them to stay awhile?

I love indie rock boys. This one is very pretty. He smiles my way every so often. I wonder if he’s taken? I’m too chicken to actually ask him out, but it’s still nice to imagine.

Anyway. This freezer that I’m staring at is hella noisy. It’s like bomb – thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum. I can’t even hear the generic Christmas carols playing on the store PA system.

More bad fashion approacheth. There’s a really old man in blue jeans and a blue denim shirt that wants to buy something from the café register, but Indie Boy Barista is MIA. Whoops. He’s back. Maybe HE had a quickie in the men’s room.

OK. On that note, I’m off. I can’t deal with the rejection any more.