I’m Gonna Live Forever
“I’ve been immortalized on the Wall of Fame, Brandi!”
There’s this guy that comes into my coffee shop from time to time and draws pictures of the girls at the counter. He’s been doing this a long time–portraits line the wall in the back room and date back to before I worked there. He comes in, asks you to try and hold still (which you can’t, because you’re, you know, working), draws an overly or underly flattering picture (Diana’s has weird, krinkly hair, while Ellie was depicted nude in a vat of coffee beans), then presents it to you and asks what you’re able to tip that day.
Or so I’d heard. Because he always comes in the afternoons, and I leave by 12. I’d never even seen the guy.
Not gonna lie, friends–I really wanted to be on that wall.
I don’t know if he’s down on his luck or what, but he’s been coming in a ton lately; the Wall of Fame is stretching to its limits. Then, Wednesday morning, around 7am, my time came. $5 from my morning tips bought me this:
And yes, I did say that thing about immortalization. You know, Friends, I go through life thinking that I’m just an average person, really not very dramatic at all, and then pretty much any time anything I say is repeated back to me I realize that I am the human personification of a Lifetime movie.
I’m okay with that.
I really haven’t been feeling very immortal lately, anyways. More like foolish, childish, insecure, needy. Making rash decisions, shooting myself in the foot, thinking I know a god-damned thing only to be proven so completely and unarguably wrong.
I’m okay with that, too, Friends. I have no other choice than to be okay with that.
Plus, you know, I did come up with that killer catch phrase.