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The Witch of Wellington

Joshua Powell

Ah, the sun and warmth of Florida. I've liked spending a few months down here—the lapping of the waves on the sandy beaches of Jupiter and Palm Beach, the tall majestic palms. What's not to like?

Well, it ain't Heaven if it's got a zip code.


Somedays, it is a study of the most wretched people in the entire world living in one place. Of course, I do read the newspaper, and I realize that, of course, there are worse people in the world. But, when it comes to your run-of-the-mill, low-grade white trash with money - Florida is in the running.


Now, not all Floridians fit into this category - it is more that the jerky ones are so loud, present, and flashy that they overpower the regular, decent folks. Then, when you fold in the rednecks and the redneck wannabes - the normal people fade away into the background of lush green lawns and swaying palms.


You can see these horrid bipedal apes in two places: behind the wheel of their leased SUVs, gaudy-colored Italian sports cars, or suped-up pickup trucks - all of which scream insecurity or at Starbucks.


I was at Starbucks the other morning, which is a busy place. All sorts of people get up early to muck out stalls, feed the horses, and train them. Horses down here during "season" are a big business that requires many hands (no pun intended, Hoss). These people need their coffee. At this Starbuck's drive-thru the cars snake around the building; the line to order in person is 10 deep, and there are those who have ordered online and pick up their joe at the delivery counter, which is also where you get your chow and java if you ordered in person. These baristas work harder than a 7-year-old in a Nike factory.


To my left stood this boy. I was not sure of his age, but he was in that awkward phase right before the hormones kick in. His knees were growing faster than his leg bones; his hair had a cowlick that suggested he was still at an age when a morning shower was not in this get-up-and-go-to-school calculus, and he had that vacant look of a kid too young to be in the middle of this caffeine-need melee.


Then, out of the corner of my eye, a black Ford Excursion lands into a parking space in the front of the store. I use the term land because she flew into it. In she comes a small, blond woman in a sundress; she wore Tori Birch sandals and sported a Rolex. She moved through the crowd like a Pamplona bull and then asked her kid, "What's taking so long?" The kid shrugged.


Well, with the skill of a gymnast and the grift of a politician, she launched herself through the line again, vaulted up on the counter, and leaned over the espresso machine.


"Where is my son's croissant and water?" she asked no one in particular. "He's been waiting!" It's as if we are all standing there to watch another caramel macchiato being made because we had nothing better to do.

This woman who was working there, who I knew (I was eavesdropping on a conversation she was having with a customer the other day), gets up at 3:15 to feed horses and comes here to open the store to be ready at its 5 AM start; she looked at the lady. If it were me, I would have grabbed her by the back of the neck and walked her out like a wet, smelly cat, but instead, she smiled and called for a breakfast sandwich, "STAT."


Nope, that was not going to do. Nasty Mom Barbie turned to her kid and asks, "How did you pay for it?" The boy handed over a card, and Mom was again leaning over the counter as I prayed that a passive-aggressive barista would "accidentally" turn the steam nozzle her way.


"We're late," she announced, "I want a refund." She waved the card around to the coffee makers. When she was told she'd have to go to the register, she once again butted in line. This one the for the people ordering in-house.


However, at this point, her kid figured out that his food and drink had been on the pickup counter all along.


"Hey, Mom, it's here," he said. And off she went. Announcing to all and no one that they were going to be late. Screw all the people she made late.


If only she had thought to take her broom, she could have just flown over the traffic and made it to whatever place she'd make a new Hell out of with her arrival.


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1 Comment


Guest
Feb 28, 2024

Yeah, there are”special people” everywhere!

Unfortunately it’s getting worse!

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