Starbucks smile

I NEEDED TO GET OUT of the house today. I woke up to another argument with The Doña (that’s what I call my mom). I made an intentionally cocky remark for fun and when she called me mayabang, I proudly proclaimed without missing a beat, “Atenista ako eh.” That triggered a general rant by The Doña about how I epitomized the stereotype. She capped off her pointless rant by telling me to refrain from cockiness until I start earning.

What the fuck does that mean?!

1. It was a pointless statement.
2. This coming from a lazy old lady who has relegated her “occupational status” to “yelling-at- the-maids person” while continuing a small time catering company that I STARTED before my junior year of high school!

As you will learn all too well, I struggle with the paradox of loving my mother without necessarily respecting her. “Good boy image” aside, she’s earned that paradox from me.

So I needed to get out. With my books (A Death in the Family by James Agee, Radical Chic… by Tom Wolfe), a notebook (okay, I’m cheap: I use scratch paper), and an overpriced black Pentel ballpoint pen, I took off to Quad (I guess it’s called Glorietta now but I like to keep it old school).

After an hour at an internet café, which saw me sending emails denying posting porn on my creative non-fiction class e-group (long-story-short: it really wasn’t me!), I proceeded to the nearest Starbucks across from Park Square 2. (That’s right, Mr. Manunulat-feeling-artist-from-the-ghetto pimpin’ it up a bit to enjoy a fucking P120 plastic-glass/cup-thing of practically 40% whipped cream.)

Which brings me to the Starbucks smile.

Fuck it, man!

That ain’t a smile…

That’s a smirk!

My closest friends know I struggle at times with paranoia (mainly because I can get self-obsessed). But I swear that fucking smirk warranted my awaiting Ashton Kutcher jumping out of the bushes or something with his “Yo! You just got PUNK’D!” routine.

Maybe the hidden cameras were behind the doughnuts.

Is that an 8mm lense in my straw?

Shit!

That smirk got to me.

It was mocking me at so many angles:

“Huuuuuuy… si artist nag-starbucks!”
“Ang peeeeeeeeeeling…”
“Ikaw yun talaga noh? Yung nag-post ng porn…”
“Halaka… magagalit si Ma’am Queena…”

The possibilities are endless. The smirk said that it knew something about me, leaving me to recall all the stupid things I’ve done over the past few weeks.

Am I thinking too hard? Probably.

Maybe she was flirting… probably not.

Baka uso ngayon ang smile na mukhang smirk…? ANOOOOOOOO?

Baka part din siya ng Starbucks Silent Protest…? Labo, tsong.

Or maybe she really heard my name right and just wrote ‘Marc’ for fun…?

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3:36pm Mon 27 March 06
Starbucks, Glorietta (Scratch paper, French handouts ata)