jeff yen

Hole

I'm at an old standby lunch joint of mine -- a crappy, greasy, fry-everything-in-lard Mexican hole in the wall. I've ordered and sat down with a cup of horchata, and getting ready to open up my current book so I can stare blankly at the pages.

One of the staff walks up to the soda fountain near me, and glances over. I glance up, neutral, and then back down to my book. He fills his cup, and wanders away.

A minute later, he comes back with two more cups -- he must be working the drive-through. He glances at me again, and I glance up again. He jerks his chin at me.

"Hey, man. Are you a cop?"

I'm confused. "Uh... what?"

"Are you a cop?"

I shake my head with a slight grin. "Nope."

"Oh, all right. You look like a cop. You ever thought of being a cop?"

"Er... I don't think I'd enjoy it."

"Right on, man." And away he goes.

I'm struck by three thoughts almost immediately:
- I need to start working out more, if I look like the average fatass patrol cop I see around my neighborhood these days.
- I should consider a change in haircut from this short-cropped buzz.
- I need to tone down my blank stares.