As I have detailed before, talking about myself is among my favorite things to do. I am my favorite subject, but I do at least have the good grace to realize that this makes me a self-absorbed windbag. An attempt is made to mitigate my blatherings. It is rather like drawing the outlet of a balloon tight so that the air inside can rush out in a high pitched fart, except that I deliver every word in a senatorial bellow complete with sweeping arm gestures.
Yesterday I was gesturing grandly and honking on about why I love going to coffee shops so much when I mistakenly had a moment of insight.
The insight was this: Baristas are better than strippers.
Now, understand me; I do not mean to say that either group of young women is “better” than the other in terms of being a better class of people, as I think they probably are demographically pretty similar. They’re young women doing honest work for honest pay, and I fully support them for it. Studies even show that a lot of strippers actually are working their way through school, and baristas are no different. In fact, there are probably many ladies who are baristas by day and strippers by night just to make ends meet.
I’m saying they are “better” from the perspective, naturally, of my experience with them.
Also I should explain that I ignore male employees at coffee shops and at strip clubs equally.
Of course, I am a great admirer of the female form, and there is nothing at all wrong with female nudity. Many times I have gone with a bunch of friends to strip clubs and had a fine time, not to mention witnessed some impressive acrobatic maneuvers on stage. I would probably have just as much fun, if not more, watching a dude prance around and swing his gentleman’s bits at people.
The problem is I’m only sort of clinically interested in naked girls who have no intention of being naked with me, kind of like the difference between a gun on a table and one that is pointed at you. There’s a much different level of interest there.
At an extremely primal level, my animal urges evaluate everyone I encounter based on a short checklist. Women get evaluated sexually, and men get evaluated based on whether or not I think I can defeat them. A naked girl prancing around at a strip club and wiggling her various treasures is ultimately like a dude walking around the stage and shaking his fist at people. After a few minutes I want to say “Okay, enough already. Either do something with that or sit down.” It’s an incomplete experience.
At the coffee shop, on the other hand, there is no shortage of cuties. Sure, they have their clothes on, but that doesn’t stop me from being in love with them. In fact, its actually better because I get a cup of coffee that I am then allowed to enjoy. I don’t have to keep my hands to myself.
Also, if you tip a barista twenty bucks she’ll be surprised and delighted, I imagine. Strippers, on the other hand, are only able to discern twenties from the rest of the landscape if they are in quantity. A single twenty to her is like a single stray golf tee rolling around in a golfer’s car. In most cases its not even worth picking up.
All I’m saying is, I love coffee shops. I maintain about a half dozen crushes on the baristas in my neighborhood at any one time, but all I expect is a cup of coffee and some harmless flirting, and both are to be had in quantity.. It is a complete experience.
I’ve heard that someone has attempted to combine topless women and a coffee shop, and to me this is an idea against the grain of nature, like a peanut butter and beer sandwich.
Some things just don’t need to be combined.