Coffee - a tale of DADA

Coffee, a tale of DADA

As Tim Brown looked out the dirty window of the Tim Horton's he was
struck by the thought that his life hadn't turned out the way he had
envisioned it. Only 7 years before he had been a star winger for the
Belleville Bulls, with several propositions in the horizon from several
NHL teams, among them his beloved Maple Leafs, but his overwhelming
passion for the bottle and the wrong type of women, had turned him into
yet another small town clich?.
A certain mix of ignorance, cockiness and lack of the right kind of
friends paved the way for Tim to be dropped by the Bulls and with that,
his future was tied to a stone thrown into the depths of the Bay of
Quinte.
As if this wasn't enough, 3 years ago He had been driving a friend's
car without any insurance and had collided head-on into a Beemer that
was carrying a family from Ottawa to Toronto. The little baby that was
sitting in the back was thrown out of her toddler seat, which
incidentally wasn't properly done up and had died instantaneously upon
collision with the front window. There had also been collateral damage
to the car. Tim was too frightened to even attempt an escape.
When the police came, he was in a near catatonic state on the
sidewalk.
The trial was quick, and the outcome completely detrimental for Tim;
He was acquitted of involuntary man slaughter because it was determined
that it was the parents fault for not making sure the seat belt was in
place, But the accidents fault was laid at Tim's doorstep and he was to
pay restitution for the car's damage.
The amount to be paid was $35,000. He reached an agreement to pay over
a period of 7 years; with interest it cost him around $550 monthly, a
sum that left him much number than the knowing that he had taken a
human life. He had contemplated trading the sentence for time, and
there were times he had wished they would hand out the death penalty
for driving without insurance.
Now at the age of 25, he was assistant manager at Tim Horton's on Glen
Miller road, taking life one coffee at a time. He had become a shadow
of a man; A kid burdened with the weight of a man's problems, trudging
through life by sheer instinct, never quite sure why he was going along
with it and at times surprised at the end of the day to find his
reflection in the mirror with its hollowed expression staring back at
him accusingly.

Among his many duties, the one he liked the most or rather the only
one he liked was opening the Customer Commentary box, placed right in
front of the main serving counter.
"What fucking losers, those old farts with their fuckin' thank you
letters."
"My husband Reginald and I were driving from Port Hope, to Gananoge
Way to see our 11 grandchildren when we were feelin' awfully tired, and
we saw the big Tim Horton's sign, and Reggie I say, how's about a
coffee, and he says Vera, 'cause my name is Vera, that sounds like a
mighty good idea, so we pull up and order 2 Coffees and share an apple
fritter. The girl who served us was just the most adorable creature we
ever set eyes on. We just wanted to let you know what a memorable time
we had, Thank you"
"What Fuckin' losers", Tim grins, and goes to grab another one.
"I think Tim is HOTT! - -Cheryl Ann 455-9089"
"Those fuckin', Radley boys", Tim knows it must be them. Them always
coming in and jabbing him about being a failure.
"Hey Timmy, those Leafs could use a good winger, the way they're
looking now. Too bad you're busy at the moment. Extra sugar,
please.
"Hey Timboy, been playing any shinny lately?"
"Hey Timothy, if I were you I would just end it, like yesterday. Why go
on?"
Timmy could have killed'em, but he couldn't afford to lose this job, He
knew that with his qualifications, if it wouldn't be for Mr. Horton, it
would be driving a cab like his own old man, or worse, maybe
construction. At least here he could tell someone to go clear a table
or something.
His mind being distracted momentarily by the stark reminder of his
life's achievements, left him devoid of any will to continue with his
ritual, yet inertia had set in and he picked up the next one and
started scanning it, but not really into it with his mind. To an
onlooker it would seem he was inspecting the paper's texture or
opacity.
It must have been the word Communism that 1st hit a chord with Tim; It
worked like 2 fingers snapped aggressively in someone's face.
"What the fuck"
His attention was now fully given to the slip of paper between his
fingers.
"Your coffee was great, it had the strong taste of the young communist
revolution. The young girl(?) was like a chilling wind in the Siberian
prairies, her 'carefully' manicured fingers would have made Stalin
cringe, and would have caused the Germans to think twice before
invading Russia.
I also had a taste of your, semi- fascist apple fritter, it was quite
the hardening experience as they say; what doesn't break you,
eventually makes you stronger.
But enough of my ranting, you wanted a commentary, you got one, even
though who ever reads this is probably not going to get the REAL
meaning of it anyway.
Love to stop by next time and chat, but I doubt I'll be in such a
self-loathsome mood in the future to put myself through this grueling
experience.
Sincerely yours, D.
VIVA DADA
"What the fuck is this supposed to mean", Tim calls Mr. Donaldson, the
manager.
Gary Donaldson is only 22, a pimpled, and annoying kid who stresses
being called Mr. by all the employees who in turn resent him and call
him names behind his back. Names like Gary the Fairy, the Fruit, Oxy
10, and the Face are but a few; but none like Tim. Gary used to be the
kind of kid who would suck dick to avoid paying a buck when cornered by
Tim's friends.
Tim would never let his cock be sucked by another guy, he wasn't a
queer.
At first it was almost impossible for Tim to not call his boss by his
first name, but Gary had stated it quite simply that it was either Mr.
Donaldson or look for another place to work. Protocol must be
observed.
Gary comes over, and in a condescending tone asks Tim what seems to be
the matter.
"Mr. Donaldson, you know how I always check the Commentary box, well
look what I found in there today", Tim takes the letter, which is
actually written on the back of a long receipt form and thrusts it
towards Gary in much the same manner a referee in soccer shows the
player the red card.
Gary takes a look, makes a mental note of some of the key words, like
Communism, Fascism and Stalin, snatches the letter and retreats into
his office.
He breaks into a sweat, his eczema is starting to erupt. This smells of
a crisis, the first in his young managerial career.
"They sure don't fuckin' teach us how to deal with this shit, in
Business Administration", he says to no one in particular.
Gary has just graduated from 3 years of Business Admin. from Loyalist
College, and after a half year of looking for work in the Quinte area,
and finding naught he took a shitty job at Tim Horton's, knowing that
if he put everything into it he would be quickly promoted. He was right
about that, and after 6 months, and the old manager leaving due to
pregnancy he was promoted to manager.
Gary didn't mind the long hours, he felt rewarded by the way the
workers treated him. Respect was important in life.
He didn't know about Tim though, at first there was a bit of tension
between them, but after their last talk Gary felt that he had done a
good job in explaining to Tim how things stood around here. Gary
couldn't help feeling that he had earned Tim's respect the old
fashioned way. Being firm where you have to be firm.
But back to the present and urgent matter at hand.
"Your coffee was great, it had the strong taste of the young communist
revolution', Gary reads out loud. "Well he's saying the Coffee was
great." "Always put what you want to convey at the beginning, that way
you catch the reader's attention", he recalls his Business Strategies
course, and the importance of paragraph structure.
"I don't get the Communism part. We're dealing with a Commie bastard,
Fuck, a fuckin' commie!"
Gary is thinking of how one is supposed to deal with a commie. They
haven't made any movies on commies in the last 10 years or so. Gary
remembers Big Tom O'grady from the 10th grade who used to make him suck
his cock and then would call him a commie faggot.
Gary was pretty sure that communism had nothing to do with
homosexuality, it only had to do with harming the economy, getting the
workers all stirred up for nothing. It was a bum's way of life.
"No way am I gonna let a commie hurt Tim Horton's "
He reads some more and gets to the part about the young girl, "Why is
he talking about her nails, none of the girls do manicures here. Which
girl is he talking about, why the question mark. What the fuck is that
supposed to mean? "
"But enough of my ranting, you wanted a commentary, you got one, even
though who ever reads this is probably not going to get the REAL
meaning of it anyway"

Whoever wrote this knew we wouldn't understand, Gary is in awe of the
Commie, he feels as if his every motion is being closely
monitored.
"How did he know we wouldn't understand", Gary whispers to
himself.
He opens the top drawer and looks for his notepad in which he keeps all
the important phone numbers, and finds Mr. Roger's, the regional
manager for southern Ontario's Tim Horton.
It's already 10:30 PM, too late to call. He'll probably have to wait
until tomorrow morning to make the call.

In the meanwhile, Tim's on his 5-minute nicotine break, he's standing
outside and shivering, oh well what one doesn't do for love.
"Let's see how that little shit handles this one", he says to Peggy who
has joined him even though no more than one employee at a time is
allowed out for 'smoking' break. They're taking advantage of the
crisis.
"What do you think it all means", Peggy asks. She still has a crush on
Tim since high school. Tim would have never considered her back in the
day, but his options were getting slim of late and he had taken to
servicing her occasionally.
"How the fuck would I know, if I would fuckin' understand that shit I
wouldn't be working here, now would I?"
"OH! touchy now, are we?"
"Fuck off"
Tim is thinking how much he would like to be able to understand that
letter. It's done something to him, something quite unexplainable. For
the 1st time, ever since he's been reading the letters, he feels like
the stupid one.
Tim has come to a resolution. Starting tomorrow he's going to spend his
free time in the public library and read up on Communism, and if he's
got any spare time after that, hell he'll start reading about that
second one on the list, Fascism.
Tim finishes his smoke, and tosses the cigarette away. He misses the
ashtray badly even though he's standing right beside it.
"Hey, can't you put the smoke out IN the ashtray, you know I have to do
the cleaning out here?!"
Tim looks at her with a mix of contempt and self-contempt at knowing
that this is the girl he wastes his sperm on. He says nothing and walks
back in.
"What's your fuckin' problem", she screams to his unflinching
back.
"Why do I put up with his shit", she whispers to herself as she
dutifully bends down and picks up the butt and puts it in the
ashtray.
She walks back in and takes her position behind the counter, as an old
couple walks in and orders 2 coffees and an apple fritter.
Mr. Donaldson walks out of his office, his shirt is unbuttoned at the
top, and he's not wearing a tie. He walks to the coffee machine and
pours himself a small coffee and starts drinking it right in front of
the customers. He looks like a philosopher, caught in deep reflection
about post-existentialism.
"Mr. Donaldson, are you ok?", Peggy asks, fritter in hand.
"Hey there sonny, are you all right?", asks the old man who is starting
to second guess his wife's choice of coming into here.
Gary looks at the old couple and then turns to Peggy. He looks like
he's been up for 3 nights straight, living off coffee alone and has
forgotten to take his medication.
" The coffee is good, it's really good. No Communism here.", Gary
mutters to no one in particular in a voice that has a definitely jagged
edge to it.
The old man looks at his wife quizzically, and then turns to Peggy and
says that on second thought it's to go.
Tim is in the corner, fake-sweeping and mopping, observing Gary with an
obvious satisfaction. He's happy tonight for the first time that it's
Gary who is the boss. Tim feels like a pickle in a sandwich, on one
hand still very perplexed as to the meaning of the letter but on the
other hand happy in gloating over Gary's predicament.
Gary suddenly announces that they're closing for the night. "No point
in further endangering the customers"
The old couple hurries to pay for their order and leave with an
astonished look upon their faces.
Tim and Peggy have a smile on their faces. They're not going to be the
ones who dissuade Mr. Donaldson from his sudden decision.
As soon as the words are uttered, Tim has already reached for his coat
and is heading towards the door.
"Ain't you comin' over tonight, I got some movies", Peggy says with a
little mischievous glitter in her eye.
"No, I"ll watch some porn at my place. At least I can imagine fuckin' a
good looking girl"
"Fuck you pig."
"Sure"
"It's over, I mean it. Don't ever fuckin' talk to me."
Tim gets into his old, battered and once-blue Cortina and decides to
go for an aimless drive around town.
Gary waits until everybody leaves, takes one final look around, tucks
the letter in the inside of his coat and locks up.
He gets into his battered up Taurus and heads back home to his unloving
and frankly quite uninspiring wife. His hand is badly trembling on the
wheel as he tries to hum an unidentifiable tune glaring from the radio.
It's only a 10 minute drive home, but today somehow seems longer than
usual. He just hopes that Tina won't give him any jive today. He
reaches his street, Morning Crest, and like usual there's nowhere to
park, so he parks on a parallel street where he barely manages to edge
his car between 2 trucks and walks the short distance home.
He opens the front door gently and doesn't utter a word. He's exhausted
and he plans on heading straight to bed. He does exactly this and walks
upstairs, opens the bedroom door which is surprisingly closed and sees
Tina on top of little Mitch, the neighbor's kid. They're both naked and
little Mitch's hands are tied to the backboard.
Gary can't believe his eyes. Not only is his wife fucking another
person, but that other person is only 15 years old.
"What the fuck are you doing"
"What does it look like we're doing", Tina replies as she continues to
straddle Little Mitch.
Mitch seems a bit confused and doesn't know what to say except: "Hey
Tina, I think you should untie me, I've got to get back home.."
Gary's face is completely covered by overwhelming anger and eczema. He
reaches for the bedside lamp and smashes it into Little Mitch's head
who is unable to move or shield his head from the force of the viscious
blows.
Tina starts screaming and ripping at her husband's blowing hand, but
it's too late.
Gary still hasn't calmed down, he knows he has passed the no-return
point. He briefly considers pummeling Tina, raising his arm as if to
strike. Tina shields her face, anticipating the blow and then hears
quick steps going down the stairs and a slamming door.
She reaches for the phone and calls the police and an ambulance and
passes out naked on her bed.
Gary gets into his car and speeds towards nowhere in particular.
Everything is a blur as he passes the Trenton industrial area, he sees
Leon's to his right. Only last month he bought a sofa from there. He's
still paying the installments. He still has 3 to make until he can
fully be declared the rightful owner. Gary takes a sharp right and sees
the Nestle factory to his left; on the factory wall he can make out a
huge graffiti stating VIVA DADA.
At the same time, Tim Brown is driving at an excessive speed on the
back road; his intake of the wall is very brief as his Cortina collides
head on with the battered Taurus.