Frappucino Quest by Sarahetc

TALK STORY

Frappucino Quest

POSTED BY: SARAHETC
UPDATED: Wednesday, June 4, 2003 22:31
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Tuesday, June 3, 2003 6:49 PM

(What the cool kids are doing on IRC Fireflyfans.net chat while you're out there having a life and being productive and such)

Frappucino Quest

So... there I was, in the Congo...
(Now somebody else picks up the thread... c'mon, work with me people...)
Surrounded by green mambas
(Where's Kaythryn working at this hour?)
her site Sarah
Wondering just how I got there from Kansas City...
And then I remembered that Kansas City is crawling with shady characters. None more shady than that guy...
With the very nice hat and the sinister laugh.
How many necks had he snapped that night? I could still hear the *crunk* sound in my left ear.
(winks to my man Lerx)
heh!
So when he said he had an idea, I decided it was probably best to smile and nod. The guy next to me who didn't smile, well, *crunk*.
So, I said, "Yeah, what you want?" Then the fake passport and all the cash was in my hands and I was at the airport...
"Where I was thoroughly probed by airport screeners, who took my nail clippers, sunglasses, pinky ring, and shoelaces. Fortunately, they missed the fifteen grand in my other pocket and the prototype laser gun in my carry-on."
And that was a big relief, let me tell you, cos standing here now surrounded by all these lightly smoking snakes, I'm glad I had it on me. There's blood on my wingtips, though. I need to remember to put that on his bill.
Now a suspicious type would be curious about why it's so imperative that I deliver this thing, marked "Propery of US Government" to these folks with strange Russian accents. But what I'm really curious about is just where the hell is the nearest Starbucks?
It has been a fricking light year since I had a frappucino and these russians don't know biscotti from a whole in the ground.
The worst part is, nobody around here seems to speak English. When they told me about that in school, I just blew it off. I thought those French and German classes were for like the geeks who learned Klingon.
So, at first I tried a little Klingon on these Russian dudes with the Ak-47s. It was the only thing to watch at the airport and I thought it might go over well with the geeky chicks who are desperate anyway. But they weren't having any of it. So the big one, who I think is called Vlad or something is pointing this big ass gun at me.
I mean, from my perspective you could dump a bowling ball down that barrel. He doesn't laugh when I say "Which way to the nuclear wessels?" which I could've sworn was Russian. But they were really nice about it. This is the roomiest trunk I've ever ridden in.
I have plenty of leg room, but it's really pretty hot and now I really can't stop thinking about that frappucino. I can hear them talking up there but they still won't talk English, even though I'm pretty sure they think i can't hear them.
So when they get out, they're nice enough to give me a chair to sit in, but I wish they wouldn't point those lights right at me. Then SOMEBODY finally starts talking in English...
But all he's asking is "Where's the money, Joe? Where's the goods, Joe?" I'm thinking this whole time, who's Joe? Did that guy with the hat in KCK say he was going to send somebody named Joe?
And I can't help him out, because that bellhop that took my suitcase with the two million in it never came back. So I ask him who 'Joe' is, nice-like, and he starts yelling, in Russian again, I think. And this guy in the corner starts sharpening his knife.
I think about that knife and who I would kill to get a frappucino at this point. And that gets me thinking about cool places to be and not get hasty when I remember that the bellhop wasn't wearing a little bellhop hat at all and didn't even smirk when I only laid a single on him for a tip. So I'm thinking, am I getting played? If only I'd remembered to bring the laser pistol with me instead of hiding it in the toilet tank.
Just then, a bunch of guys in uniforms come busting in, waving guns. I didn't think they were bellhops either. Whatever it was, they were getting pretty rude with the Russians. I mean, throwing them down and stepping on them isn't my idea of a polite hello. I decided it would be a good time to leave.
Later on I would realize that the Russians themselves weren't very smart at all, cos I got out of the chair with a minimum of fuss and made it back out to the lobby, still squinting a little bit from all those lights. Found a helpful bellboy who cut the ropes around my wrists. I slid him a five-spot.
Then I had to go get my prototype laser, because it is a loaner after all, and I really don't want to go *chunk* like those other guys. I was pretty sure it had plenty of juice left, since I'd put a fresh set of Energizers in it before I left. Down at the garage there was a lot of shooting and yelling going on, which I was starting to figure out was how people greet each other in this town.
I got out the back real fast. For a minute I thought the bellboy-but-not-really bellboy was in a dumpster in the alley changing clothes, but I had bigger fish to fry. Namely, how to make sure the Russians knew that that box was for them, not for Joe and to find a Starbucks.
But then I saw a wonderful pretty outfit and it just screamed 'Mom!' so I had to stop and get it. It took some doing, but after chiseling fifteen bucks out of me, the guy finally took it off and gave it to me.
I walked around the block a couple times, crossing to the other side of the street near the entrance to the underground garage. There was a lot of smoke pouring out the entrance and it smelled absolutely terrible. I heard some Russian in my third pass across the alley...
And while I was looking for him, he found me. Just like shooting people is the local thing, I guess Russians greet their friends by standing behind them and holding knives to their throats. I really should have stayed awake in Social Studies. I can see what they mean now about how a good education will take you far. Anyway, he's going on about "Where's the package, Joe?" again, and I'm trying to explain that I'm not Joe.
If you've never had a knife pressed to your throat, it's a strange sensation. My first instinct was to duck real quick-like, but that smarted, so I stayed put. I spoke as slowly and clearly as I knew how: "I. Am. Not. Joe." The guy with the knife seemed to get really frustrated and I told him that I was right there with him.
And anyway, Joe didn't have his package, I did. He started giggling then, which was really eerie because the man with the nice hat giggled a lot before he did things like breaking necks. But hoping he was in a good mood, I asked him if he knew where there was a Starbucks.
The knife pressed in a little harder and right then and there I resolved never to go anywhere near Kansas City ever again.
I and really decided not to ever come back here again. But I was really getting mad now, so I took out my prototype laser gun. I mean, fun is fun and all, but this shave was getting a little too close.
I conjured up some of the moves I learned when Mother and I took that ballroom dancing class and pirouetted right out from that knife. Mr. Russian changed his tune with a laser gun in his face. This confirms my suspicions that Russians do have phasers and that Russian and Klingon are probably the same language. Anyway, I told him, "If I don't get a frappucino in the next five minutes, I'm going to ship that damn package to Sheboygan."
So he starts in on this "Nyet, be cool." routine, but I'm jolting. Too much blood in my freakin' caffiene system, got a pounding headache coming on, and I just want a damn frappacino! I think the way I was sticking the barrel up his nostril finally convinced him this wasn't a joke anymore. Some people are just dense, god.
So he's mumbling and crying like a baby. Where's Sheboygan, I think he wants to know. "Listen, you dumb Russian," I say and his eyes get real big. To me that's smarting off so I ram the barrel up there a little further and he cries a little. "I'm gonna go get some coffee. I don't care if I have to rob your grandma for it, I'm gonna get it. If you're not right here on your knees like I'm leaving you when I get back, you don't want to know what will happen. Sheboygan is colder than hell and ten times as smelly."
So now this damn cabbie doesn't understand a word I'm saying. I try being friendly like the local customs and stuff, but he just runs off when I get the pistol out. Damn it, if I live here a whole week I still don't think I'll have these people figured out.
Why can't I get anyone to listen to my needs? My cell phone won't get any reception in this Starbucks-forsaken hell hole so I can't complain to mother. But then I spotted a grocery store on the next block up. I went in there and waved the laser around some and asked "Frappucino?" in every accent I know, including Klingon. Now I'm reduced to sitting here eating handfuls of coffee grounds.
And that's better, kind of. But I've never seen a store with live chickens in it. They're all kinds of cute and I just want to take them home, but isn't there a law about combining pet stores with grocery stores? If not, there should be, because the smell gets into the coffee grounds.
I pick up some toothpaste and a chicken on the way and leave some cash on the gumball machine right inside the door. I have no idea what the exchange rate is, but those were pretty decent raw coffee grounds so I'm pretty generous. I haul my chicken back to where I left the dumb Russian and tell him, "Here. Hold this." He's very compliant now and it gives me time to change the batteries in the laser again.
"So what do you think is a good name for my chicken?" I ask, acting all cool and casual, like in a movie. He says something in Russian or Klingon or whatever, and Nyet sounds pretty good to me. "Anyway, I'm not Joe, okay, and the package is for you guys. It's in my room at the hotel." Just after I point at the hotel, I realize it's on fire. All the shouting, I thought it was just another group get-together.
And he's there, on the sidewalk, crying, with snot and spit all down his face and I feel so sorry for the poor bastard. So, I take Nyet from him and say, "If you can get in there and get the package, we'll be square, I think. It's in the toilet tank, third floor, room 337."
So he gives me this really dirty look, and I think it's true what mom says... some people just don't have any kindness in their heart. Give and give and they just take take. I'd call her and talk about it, but no phone still. So I just walk away with my chicken.
Nyet clucks some at me and I can't get over how lucky I am to have picked such a friendly chicken. He's going to get along really well with Mother's chicken. There was an explosion then, back where the hotel was burning and I felt bad for a minute cos I figured that that was probably the package.
It was better than the Fourth of July, all sparkles and green fire and that sort of thing, but it was obviously upsetting Nyet, so I couldn't stay to watch. I wasn't even going to bother with another cab.
So I walked then, up the street and over the bridge, with my fine chicken Nyet and my fine laser pistol. My head was still thudding dully, so I kept my eyes peeled for another grocery store. I hoped I would find one a little more upscale where I might could find a grind-your-own kiosk. The only thing more refreshing than a chat with mother at the moment would've been a handful of Kona Premium fresh french roasted.
The fire was really starting to spread, and people were really excited. I guess it takes something big to get people excited in a town where they wave guns at each other to say 'Hi.' Nyet started wiggling around, so I figured he wanted to get down. I put him down and off he goes. Suddenly it was all clear. He was from around here, and maybe HE knew the way to a Starbucks.
There's something so bracing about chasing a chicken when he knows the way to Starbucks. I had a small stitch in my side, but my mouth was watering at the thought of three shots of espresso and cold milk over ice with a shot of Irish Cream flavoring. I guess I let my mind wander a little, because the next thing I knew, Nyet had led me into a dark area of town. I couldn't hear any Russian or Klingon right off, but I put my finger on the trigger just in case.
So then he stopped and wandered around a bit, like he was lost. I know how that is. I get lost at home all the time, and there are only three streets in the whole town. Boy, if the neighbors weren't so nice, I'd never make it home for dinner. Anyway, I try to tell him it's okay, but I wasn't really breathing that well right then.
I figure that Nyet and I really have a connection so I just think it real hard at him, like this. "It's okay, Nyet! Seriously!" He pecked at the ground a little and I took this as a good sign. There were a lot of clothes lines around and all of them had frilly underwear hanging off of them. I snatched a few lovely pieces for Mother and checked for cell phone reception.
I was in an analog roaming zone, and she always gets mad when I call from there. But I was just tired and I wanted mom so bad. Besides, I left a million bucks in my sock drawer at home, so I figured I could make it up to her.
"Mom? Mother, it's me. No, me. Me. I'm in the Congo. I know I said I was going to Kansas City. We'll talk about it later. Listen, there's a million bucks in my sock drawer. Please wire it to the nearest grayhound and hopefully I'll be home in time for dinner. Made a great new friend you're sure to like. No, Mom, not that kind of friend. Yes, Mother, I did do some shopping and I found some things I think you'll like. Okay. Okay. Okay. Love to Gretchen. Bye now."
And so to make a long story short...
Nyet and I booked passage on the first bus out of there. Nyet was pretty angry when we had to go on a ship, but I thought at him real hard that it was better than flying. By the time I got home, dinner was cold and Mother was angry, but she liked her new clothes. I told this story to the guys down at Starbucks and then got lost on the way home. Such is life, I guess. I just know that Nyet and I have a great life and I never hear that *crunk* noise anymore.
WHEW!
* Archer hyperventilates.
Damn you're smooth, Arch!
* Archer bows.
You carried me, M'lady.
You guys rule!
[applause]
yea!
Bravo!
* Archer bows to the crowd.

* Archer ponders throttling Lerx.

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Tuesday, June 3, 2003 6:52 PM

SUCCATASH

Sarah?

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Tuesday, June 3, 2003 6:54 PM

SARAHETC

Yes, Succatash?

The formatting is crummy, I know. Just back and forth between me and Archer.

Sarah

I'm a dying breed who still believes, haunted by American dreams. ---Neko Case

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Wednesday, June 4, 2003 5:01 PM

LERXST

Nothing quite as thrillin' as watchin' a live duel between bards. Glad I was there to see it. BTW, Arch was considerin' throttlin' me cuz of some snide remark I made to 'im, which Sarah had the good taste to edit out. Heh! Where are ya Arch? Got a nut ping with yer name on it.

_________________________________________________
Raspberry! Only one man would dare give me the raspberry...LONESTAR!!

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Wednesday, June 4, 2003 5:05 PM

SARAHETC

As soon as I get motived, I'm gonna clean up the formatting and edit those comments right back in, sweetcakes.

Sarah

I'm a dying breed who still believes, haunted by American dreams. ---Neko Case

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Wednesday, June 4, 2003 10:31 PM

ARCHER

Lerx, I'm back to being one-hundred percent devoted to my worship of Zoe.

So whatever little dreams you're entertaining, please keep your hands away from my private parts.

There ain't nothin' I can't overcome or come to know. So lay your heavy load down on me, strip everything I have away. I am not your prisoner, I am not afraid.

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