I've longed- nay begged- for a moment in my life where it would be acceptable to spit take. By that I mean, upon hearing a shocking statement, I'd react by expelling my beverage or "spit take" in a fashion commonly found in situation-style comedy. It may be caused by surprising news, an uproarious punch line, or outlandish, physical slapstick.
My intentions were simple; seek out an unsuspecting crowd, then generate an avalanche of impromptu laughs from every person in radius of my comedic timing and genius.
Eighteen coffee trips a week for eleven straight years seemed like a promising strategy for such a hilarious occasion.
Real life is funnier than any contrived television show anyways, right? But what if I was able to cross those channels? (pun intended) What if I merge both the fabricated syndicated world and reality? (I take it back, that pun was intended) One might not be able to distinguish what their eyes are seeing. Could someone actually react that strongly to an conversation while sipping a beverage? Is this a re-run or am I apart of something special? Is this art portraying life, or life portraying art? (Glad I used that pun, this paragraph wasn't as exciting as I initially planned)
Well, there I was, once again, about to have these questions answered with my soon-to-be, pleasantly surprised audience. Currently camped in the middle of Tim Horton's. Patiently, I wait. I stalk.
My technique: calmly sit with beverage in mouth and, upon relevancy, expel liquid. Slight pause for inevitable eruption of laughter. If things go well enough, take a bow.
Right now my form is perfect. No one can tell I have this hot coffee in my mouth. The fools! My lower lip shows no signs of over exposure or underbite that you may find from an amateur impression of Slingblade. Now it's time to listen in for the right moment.
There's a charming young couple cornered on my right, shopping on a laptop. Perhaps browsing for something that will go with his Affliction tee and camo shorts, like a red bull. Or another pair of winter flip flops. (I commonly refer to this fashion motif as the "UFC Tuxedo. Something that says to your peers, "I have been known to wear this to a job interview," or "I own more than one Scarface poster.")
Hmm. Maybe a bra for her.
A gaggle of ladies sat in the distance. Ok, two. They were talking up a high-pitch storm that was too faint to understand but too obnoxious to ignore. I had no vantage point in that position.
An older woman and her what I believe to be grandson sat to my left. Kids say the darndest things! Great opportunity! What a gift he could receive, witnessing his first-ever spit take. He would be able to tell the story for years to come, being one of his first memories. Ah, if only someone was generous enough to expose me to such a treat when I was his age.
Alas, the child is preoccupied with his toy truck and donut holes. His grandmother, constantly checking her watch as if there were going to be late. I hope that's really his grandmother.
It's been 6 hours.
I'm beginning to realize this may not be the time. Again. The weight of my boredom is starting to pin me down. I am surrounded by dull small talk. Nothing with substance! It's the kind of banal conversation you'd come across by retired repairmen and hobby shops across the nation. Had I recorded or, somehow, documented the time and money I've spent on every one these trips for this single, rare comedic device, I fear my reaction would be nothing short of violent disappointment. Violent.
Ok, changing my radar.
Before me sat a trio of heavy nose-breathers in the round. (Sidenote: There's something inherently creepy about people who breathe thru their nose. Time in.) The elder male, with long grey hair and a white beard overlapping his navy blue winter coat, discussing trails conquered by his 4x4. Recounting the heroics of his adventures on aforementioned paths, with the zest of a wild viking and a Maple Dip donut, the others sit in awe. He is the alpha male at this table. Clearly. The other man at the table; short, portly, and a bearded complexion that would otherwise be considered rugged or manly if he wasn't flat out gross, adds to the conversation with a grunt. More of a snort.
"I'm from Buffalo! Hold my beer and watch this shit!" the Gandoff bellows, with a distinct whistle. His mouth is full of sage-esc comments. (Note: Don't misunderstand. He's, not insightful. The man wields no wisdom. His teeth are just a nasty shade of green.)
His demin bride, smitten. Telling it like it is, she chimes in with a cultivated knowledge one can only possess through worldly travel.
"Like Jeff Foxworthy said, 'You can drive 75 miles an hour and...'"-it's Jeff Foxworthy, so you can pretty much guess where this is going.
Twenty more minutes go by.
My mouth, now lock-jawed, brimming with stale latte, still await it's cue. My fingers, all warmed up after my rendition of the drum beat from "Hot For the Teacher", now clawing the table. But I'm casual. I'm cool. I'm cool as a Penguin's nutsack.
.....
.......... . . . .....
...Do penguin's even have a- not now! Concentrate damnit! It can be at any moment. I'm soul is itching! Also, my butt. BUT, I am still. I wait. I am patient. Like a well-trained sniper, with coffee in their mouth. .................
...............................................................................................................................................
.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................still waiting. .......................
.................................... ................................................................................................................................... .....................................................................................................................
.... and I wait.............................................................................................. ..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
..... .. ... ...and......................................................................................................................................
......................................................................................................................................................wait........
................
If these walls could talk... they'd probably bring up the weather....
.............. . . . . .Ugh .............................................................
...................... . . . ................................ .....................................................................................................................................................................
...............really people? .................................................................................. .. .. ..............
...................................... I just found the fly on the wall. He staked himself using a thumbtack holding a suicide note. "I wanted the only 24 hours of my life back."............
............................................ ................................................................... ................................................................................................................................................ .......................................................................................................... ........................................
..... . .. ........ ....
....Me thinks I should have brought a magazine.
Or a friend. Crap.
WAIT! What are those ladies giggling about?! C'mon! I can't hear a thing. It's like a couple of Chiuaua's on helium! I bet it was a golden moment too. I'm so desperate to end this!
The old biker in front of me asked about the time. She replied and mentioned how she needed to get back anyways to shower. Shower? The visualization alone is startling. Would they even get it? I think that's my opening. CRAP! Now he just brought up Obama. It's ok, I can still get this. I'm still thinking about her showering and already starting to vomit as it is. Stop thinking! GO FOR IT! SPIT! SPIT!
I spit. (Or spat.) Some built up saliva gets out in the process.
Nothing.
No! You missed your cue! And not everyone saw the first time! Hit them again!
I sip.
And I spit again.
More heads turn and still no laughter. All was lost.
Just then- a revelation. It wasn't the shocking conversation that should have caused my spit-take, it was the spit-take itself! How often do you see a spit take anyways? So the second spit take was the direct result of an original spit take! And now that everyone is looking at me I have the perfect time to-
Sip. Spit!
Success! A spit take due to random previous spit takes! But wait a minute, I was taught that one of the fundamentals of comedy was the "triple". How everything is funnier in the rule of three. Well, now that their worlds have already been shattered- we risk it all! BREAK convention!
I sip and spit a FOURTH TIME! That's right!
And this time was surely the longest and strongest of streams!
These outsiders had no idea what had hit them; what comedic ingenuity had been bestowed upon their feeble minds. NO ONE could have known that today was the day their standard of humor had just been upgraded to levels far beyond the measure of comfort they had previously been able to enjoy. This perfectly explains their inability to laugh. Their minds are blown. Shock is the only expression as only true genius can appreciate the mold that has been broken today at ground-zero, formerly Tim Horton's. Especially the table in front of me with their now coffee stained coats. Yes, four times is certainly is a charm. Just read their blank stares.
....... ......................... . . . .. .....
As I slowly stood up from the table, took my bow, and walked to my car, I learned something. What once was supposed to be a "funny social experiment" has now been self-proclaimed an amendment to the comic constitution. Friends, the game has been changed, possibly forever. But this wasn't for them, it was for me. And sometimes, that's all that matters.
I couldn't stop smiling. Not only did I perform the spit take, I transcended it. Most people would call it quits after such a feat, the spit, but I am an as ambitious as the table was wet.
Now I look towards conquering the rest of my "Sitcom Television Devices Translating in Real Life" bucket list, or my "STD-TRL". I'm not looking to defy gravity, but I will try sharting.
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