Upon entering the coffee house in downtown Kalamazoo, I could smell the aromas of the various kinds of coffees, and pastries.
I approached the counter, and looked through the glass display to make my decision. There were various kinds of biscotti, consisting of those dipped in chocolate with vanilla stripes, vanilla with chocolate stripes. Some were dipped in chocolate with a piece of strawberry at the end of the tips.
I elected the ones dipped in chocolate with vanilla stripes. To drink, I had an espresso.
Walking over to a table, I sat down, and immediately indulged in the pastry and coffee. I picked up a newsletter resting on top of the table, filled with local events scheduled to take place throughout the month. It contained some local musicians who were to give performances somewhere in town. Where exactly, I don’t recall. There were also mentions of new book releases at one of the bookstores in the downtown area.
While I was reading the newsletter, sets of two couples came in, talking rather loudly.
“I always thought Oscar Wilde was a profound writer; yet, he was also a rather strange man,” one of the men was saying to the other three in the group.
“I’m partial to Ernest Hemingway, myself. He had such a beautiful way with words. I love the way he painted portraits with the simplicity of the spoken language,” the first woman said in response to the man as they walked up to the counter to place their orders.
“I’ll have a piece of chocolate cheese cake, and a capaccino. As for my friends, put it their orders on my bill,” man number two said as he pulled out his wallet to pay for his order.
The other three in the party gave their orders.
Walking over to a table across from mine, the men sat on one side of the table, and the two women sat on the other.
What a bunch of phony intellectuals. They like to pretend they know something about literature, when clearly they don’t know a darn thing. What do they know about Oscar Wilde. Yes, he’s an amazing writer. But these people are clearly trying to impress each other with fancy jargon. I thought to myself while glancing over in their direction, taking in their conversation.
“The other day, I found the cutest shoes here in the downtown area. They are red leather shoes with buckles on them. When I saw them, I thought, how nostalgic of the olden days of the United States,” woman number one said, as she shoved a piece of croissant into her mouth.
Oh that’s really ladylike. Where are here manners. When shall the mountain move when there are clearly folks here who are not only phony in their character and candor, but the woman doesn’t even have the social graces to eat like a lady should eat. Who the heck give a darn about her stupid shoes. They sound like the ugliest shoes ever made. I can imagine what they look like. What makes her think such shoes are cute or are stylish? Honestly. Then, she doesn’t even talk about anything genuine intellectuals usually talk about. I thought as I focused my attention on my biscotti, scraping the bits of chocolate off of it with my nail, letting the shavings fall into my espresso.
I got up from my table, and walked over to the counter where I grabbed a stir stick.
Walking back to my seat, I glanced over at the two couples who were sipping their coffees dainty. I couldn’t get over how even the men were dainty in sipping their coffee with their pinkies out. I’ve always pointed my pinkies out when drinking anything, regardless if I was holding a mug, a glass or a cup. However, it was an inborn habit I’ve always had. I wasn’t out to impress anyone like those couples were.
Upon taking my seat, I took a sip of my espresso, as I continued to listen in on their conversation and observe them.
“I’ve been reading up on philosophy of Plato. Did you know he was influenced by Socrates? Socrates philosophy is profound, and controversial. He was accused of being a poor influence upon the youth,” man number two said to the group, while he blew his nose at the table.
“He wasn’t only accused of influencing the youth, but he was accused of corrupting the youth with his religious and political beliefs,” I interjected in the conversation, while dabbing my mouth with my napkin.
“You know about Socrates? Did you finish college? The reason I ask is because such things are taught in college,” man number one asked me while furling his eyebrows at me.
“Actually, yes. I know about Socrates. I’ve had philosophy courses in college. I was an outstanding student in the subject matter. I’ve graduated not only from Kalamazoo Valley Community College with an Associates in Liberal Arts but I have a B. A. in creative writing from Western Michigan University. Socrates is my favorite philosopher of all time,” I said enthusiastically while taking another sip of my espresso.
“Impressive. So you’re also a writer. Have you had anything published yet?” man number one asked me, while learning across the table to get a bite of what I assumed was his girlfriend’s piece of strudel.
“I’ve had some publications of poetry and prose, as a result of competing in literary competitions. I’ve also had an article pertaining to the writing craft published last year in a literary journal through a literary organization I belong to,” I said while rubbing my eye with my napkin, due to allergies.
I excused myself, and exited the coffee house. They seem like nice people, but still not very bright about literature. I thought, as I headed to the local card store to look at the latest Christmas cards.
Upon entering the store, I could smell the sweet aromas of the candles. I walked over to the racks to examine a few of them. The one was the scent of a vanilla cupcake, another one was pine scent, and yet another had a Christmas scent filled with cinnamon.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015