“Poor Jackie” by Man Man which clocks in at 8:24.

The opening verse of Man Man’s epic song “Poor Jackie” sets the scene for a bawdry tale of a street walking murderess who cuts the hearts out of her victims and paints a moustache on her face to hide from police. The track is the sprawling gypsy-prog epicenter of an otherwise pop-forward album, and a highlight of Man Man’s career to this point. The song opens:

“Jackie hits the streets
She swears that all she sees
Is the hunger in their eyes
And the desperation in their speech”

What wonderful serendipity it was that I’d just listened to the song, lyrics still lingering in my mind, when I arrived at my favorite local espresso joint just the other day. Funny, because those lyrics could easily have been written about the woman working the lonely midday shift that day. It was 4pm, a transient hour. The place was empty except for one single man seated at a corner table reading private documents. Private? You bet. Had to be private the way he was twisted and turned to hide them from the world. I paid him no mind seeing as how he was seated across the room from my favorite spot.

My order: “Hi, I’ll have a latte please.”
Jackie: “Oh hey! Okay, is that to stay or to go?”
Me: “Hey, how’s it going? It’s for here. Thanks. How’ve you been….”

So, I “know” the barista at this particular place. Not because I’m the kind of guy who makes it a point to shake hands and make friends with people who serve me beverages, but rather because she’s nice and saw me enough to finally one day introduce herself - “You’re in here a lot. I’m Jackie…”

I come to this place as though it will energize my exhausted mind, or inspire it, or whatever. The drinks do that? The atmosphere? It’s all supposed to I think. There’s something that keeps bringing people back here. Jackie perhaps? She fixes up my latte and makes it all pretty on top with the foam and everything (the way they all tend to do at this particular place) and I go to my regular seat and set up camp. It’s the familiarity that keeps ‘em coming back here, and Jackie’s part of that. Thankfully, around this time of day, they’re not coming back in droves - the people who come in around 4:00 are pretty much all takeaways. Which makes it a perfect time and place to lose an hour. No bothersome conversations the next table over, no nosy jerks trying to see what you’re writing -or worse, asking “whatcha writin’?”- nothing. Just the purity of coffee-faced writerdom.

But no! Wait. Actually, come to think of it, I was missing those people! The human wallpaper. I thought I didn’t need them around but here it was just me alone with a blank computer screen and all the hushed atmosphere I could ever want and suddenly a realization: I really wanted some bozos to half-listen-to and half-watch. Bah!

That’s when I started paying attention to the steadily slow stream of customers stopping in for a quick order “to go”. All I could see was the hunger in their eyes, and the desperation in their speech…

Customer #1: (white male, 45) “How much are the cookies?”
Jackie: “Two dollars a piece.”
Customer #1: “For which? Both kinds? Are there two different kinds?”
Jackie: “Yes, oatmeal and chocolate chip.”
Customer #1: “Is the lumpy one oatmeal?”
Jackie: “Yes. Well they’re both lumpy. But the one you’re pointing at is oatmeal.”
Customer #1: “And how much is it?”
Jackie: “Two dollars.”
Customer #1: “For this one? It looks bigger than the rest. Is the chocolate chip better or is oatmeal better?”
Jackie: “That depends on your personal preference really.”
Customer #1: “Can I have one of each to try?”
Jackie: “Yes, for two dollars each.”
Customer #1: “Ouch….”
(extended pause: silence)
Customer #1: “I’ll have an oatmeal please. To keep. That one, the big one.”

Customer #2: (white male, 30ish) Nothing. Silence. He leans in and speaks to her. It’s not a whisper, I don’t think, judging by the look on his face and hers. This isn’t a special quiet moment, just a quiet man. An order is placed, I assume, and Jackie goes to work. The gargle of milk frothery fills the air: score! A latte to go. He turns and leaves just as silently as he entered. No “thank you,” no acknowledgment of any exchange, or service rendered, or goods purchased. Bamf! He was gone in an instant.

Customer #3: (Italian couple, late 20s) “Hey.”
Jackie: “How are you?”
Customer #3: “Can I gets a small coffee and -for the lady- a small coffee as well. That’ll do its, yeah.” (Italian flirt talking and coochie coos ensue) “Let’s go back outside, is beautiful. Yes?”
Jackie: “So nice.” (she hands them their drinks and they leave speaking Italian to each other) “Have a good one guys.”

Customer #4: (white male, 35ish) “A coffee.”
Jackie: “Small or big?”
Customer #4: “Uh medium?”
Jackie: “We don’t have a medium.”
Customer #4: “Oh boy. No medium?! Grande then. Yeah?”
(he seemed impressed with his Starbucks wit)
Jackie: (no sign of annoyance) “So that’s a large?”

Customer #5: (black female, 25) “Iced latte.”
Jackie: “You got it.”
Customer #5: “You dont drink iced drinks do you?”
Jackie: “No.”
Customer #5: “But in the summer… when it’s hot… it’s better. Like, when I’m working outside a lot I always have one. And I feel like it goes better with my stomach too.”
Jackie: “I could see that, iced coffee is funny that way sometimes.”
Customer #5: “Yeah, desserts too.”
Jackie: “Here you go, that’s $4.25.”
Customer #5: (counts change from her pocket, no bills) “Uh oh…”
Jackie: “That’s okay, I’ll just put it on your tab!”
Customer #5: “No, I want to pay you today! How late will you be here?”
Jackie: “Until eight o’clock.”
Customer #5: “Okay, see you later then… I’m working late, definitely see you later.”

Customer #6: (Indian male, 40) “Hey.”
Jackie: “Hi, how are you?”
Customer #6: “Pretty good. Just a latte.”
Jackie: “For here or to go?”
Customer #6: “That’s a good question. For go. I mean, to stay here. Yep.”
(she works wonders with the espresso machine as he nervously paces around the cash register/counter area… moments later his drink arrives)
Customer #6: “The way you do that foam makes me want to touch it. The design on it. And I’m not even that into touching things.”
(he really said that. Her: no reply. He tries the latte…)
Customer #6: “Is that different espresso?” (he licks his lips (ew) as he tastes and talks. He sounds like Paul Giamatti’s character in Sideways…) “Usually it starts moving towards berries but not this one. It’s real nutty. And. It’s buzzing. It buzzes in my mouth and hints of something floral.”
Jackie: “No, it’s the same.”
(he tastes again in disbelief)
Customer #6: “Whatever happened to Derek?”
Jackie: “He’s at the other store. He had to move on.”
(another prolonged taste - he savors the coffee and the moment)
Customer #6: “I guess we all do eventually. But good news for us here, it just means more time with you! Right? Well I’ll be right over there like I always am. Look, you can see me from where you’re standing.”
Jackie: “Okay…”

Jackie threw down some verbal ellipsis that signaled the end of the conversation and I decided it might be the end for me too. I’d observed quite a few more interactions, and wrote them all down, but I left out most of them due to their utter banality. This one though, this one left me feeling the need to leave after witnessing the extraordinary discomfort. I had to go and find sanctuary outside the creepy customer zone. But not Jackie. She couldn’t escape it, she still had three more hours to go.

Poor Jackie.

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*front thumbnail from HERE; top photo taken by me

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