Harry Potter's new job
Yes. I have the latest scoop: Harry Potter is now a barista at a Scooter's coffee shop on the prairie. I am waiting with bated breath for J.K to come out with a Little Potter on the Prairie series. I see all kinds of possibilities. Shenanigans erupt when Harry and Ron attempt to magically make their first raspberry vanilla mocha. Hermione must take them in hand when a whipped cream fight ensues. Those rascally Weasley twins make toffee bits rain down on innocent drive thru customers. Mad Eye Moody pouts when his white mocha is not hot enough. Ginnie Weasley is terrorized by he who shall not be named as she tries to hide out in Harry's Scooter hut.
Seriously, though, folks. It is not a bad day when a Harry Potter lookalike serves you up some hot java juice on a cold day in February. Which is exactly what happened to me.
I got my test results back today from my total body bone scan. I don't really feel like sharing yet. I know that this is now a This Is What Cancer Looks/Feels Like blog, but you know...sometimes....I just have to float elsewhere. It is part of the whole cancer schmancer denial thing that happens to us all who fight this shitty disease.
Sometimes, we just need to breathe air that is not full of cancer.
So, I will not go on and on about how I got my results and then sat in the unisex bathroom and held on to either side of the stall and let myself have a good silent scream cry. I will not talk about what it felt like to send a Marco Polo to L, C, and S and act chipper when I did not feel chipper because I had promised that I would send one the second that I knew anything. I will not talk about how lucky I am to have a wife who is incredibly talented at talking me off the ledge.
Well, now...THAT sounds like I had terrible news. It was not terrible. But, it wasn't fun and I will save it for next time, okay?
Today, I will write about how I stopped for coffee on the way home at a local Scooters because I didn't feel like driving the extra few miles to Starbucks and I am already really pissed off at Howard Schultz for deciding to join the already too crowded group of Democrat hopefuls running for president.
I mean, GOOD GRIEF, HOWARD. Like we need to keep diluting the field. Didn't we learn anything from last time? When your candidate (that would be Bernie) does not drop out of a race gracefully and his followers refuse to vote for the one who beat him, you DILUTE the field and you end up with a creepy ass liar-liar-pants-on-fire for president. Plus, a vice president who calls his wife "mother" and has a kindly, yet strangely cruel face.
Ok...I digress.
The thing is....I stopped at a Scooters on the way home from my doctor's appointment and um....okay....
Harry Potter was standing at the window to take my order. Well, he didn't have his glasses on and there was no lightning bolt mark on his forehead...and....he didn't have a British accent, but it could have been his bloody twin, mate.
So much so that I just sat there and stared at him for a beat. Finally, I squeaked out something about ordering an extra hot toffee white mocha, no whipped cream. He smiled and nodded and the window rolled back behind him while I sat staring at him with my mouth wide open.
I watched him make my drink and when he came back to the window to tell me the amount I owed and to take my credit card, I sort of stuttered, "You probably get this ALL the time, but do you know that you look very much like...."
He smiled. "Harry Potter? Daniel Radcliffe? Yeah, I DO get that a lot. But, I assure you I am not him." He pulled at the name tag on his shirt that said KEVIN and showed it to me.
I blathered something really inane about how OF COURSE, he wasn't Harry Potter...but wow...he sure did look like him.
His smile was professional, but weary. You could tell that he was contemplating going home that very night and dyeing his hair blonde.
I took back my card and drink from him. I apologized.
"I'm sorry...I just...hey.."
His smile faded a little. "No. I'm sorry. I do not want you to take my photo, okay?"
I gave him my best shocked look. Assured him that I would NEVER ask him to do that.
"Do people actually want to take your photo?" I asked.
A pause. And then before he could answer, his booth partner stood next to him and told me that almost every other customer had wanted to do just that.
"A few have asked him if he could come take a selfie with them," she said.
I made myself look properly shocked. I might have even tsk tsked. I told them that I would NEVER have done that and to have a nice day.
But, when T gets home....we are so going out for coffee because I mean....she needs to see this guy.
She's very crafty. Maybe we could kind of sneakily take his photo. No. She'd never agree to that. She has morals. Good ones.
I wonder how long he will last. I mean, being a celebrity can be a downer, I've heard.
For now, let's just say that Harry Potter makes one mean toffee mocha.
Seriously, though, folks. It is not a bad day when a Harry Potter lookalike serves you up some hot java juice on a cold day in February. Which is exactly what happened to me.
I got my test results back today from my total body bone scan. I don't really feel like sharing yet. I know that this is now a This Is What Cancer Looks/Feels Like blog, but you know...sometimes....I just have to float elsewhere. It is part of the whole cancer schmancer denial thing that happens to us all who fight this shitty disease.
Sometimes, we just need to breathe air that is not full of cancer.
So, I will not go on and on about how I got my results and then sat in the unisex bathroom and held on to either side of the stall and let myself have a good silent scream cry. I will not talk about what it felt like to send a Marco Polo to L, C, and S and act chipper when I did not feel chipper because I had promised that I would send one the second that I knew anything. I will not talk about how lucky I am to have a wife who is incredibly talented at talking me off the ledge.
Well, now...THAT sounds like I had terrible news. It was not terrible. But, it wasn't fun and I will save it for next time, okay?
Today, I will write about how I stopped for coffee on the way home at a local Scooters because I didn't feel like driving the extra few miles to Starbucks and I am already really pissed off at Howard Schultz for deciding to join the already too crowded group of Democrat hopefuls running for president.
I mean, GOOD GRIEF, HOWARD. Like we need to keep diluting the field. Didn't we learn anything from last time? When your candidate (that would be Bernie) does not drop out of a race gracefully and his followers refuse to vote for the one who beat him, you DILUTE the field and you end up with a creepy ass liar-liar-pants-on-fire for president. Plus, a vice president who calls his wife "mother" and has a kindly, yet strangely cruel face.
Ok...I digress.
The thing is....I stopped at a Scooters on the way home from my doctor's appointment and um....okay....
Harry Potter was standing at the window to take my order. Well, he didn't have his glasses on and there was no lightning bolt mark on his forehead...and....he didn't have a British accent, but it could have been his bloody twin, mate.
So much so that I just sat there and stared at him for a beat. Finally, I squeaked out something about ordering an extra hot toffee white mocha, no whipped cream. He smiled and nodded and the window rolled back behind him while I sat staring at him with my mouth wide open.
I watched him make my drink and when he came back to the window to tell me the amount I owed and to take my credit card, I sort of stuttered, "You probably get this ALL the time, but do you know that you look very much like...."
He smiled. "Harry Potter? Daniel Radcliffe? Yeah, I DO get that a lot. But, I assure you I am not him." He pulled at the name tag on his shirt that said KEVIN and showed it to me.
I blathered something really inane about how OF COURSE, he wasn't Harry Potter...but wow...he sure did look like him.
His smile was professional, but weary. You could tell that he was contemplating going home that very night and dyeing his hair blonde.
I took back my card and drink from him. I apologized.
"I'm sorry...I just...hey.."
His smile faded a little. "No. I'm sorry. I do not want you to take my photo, okay?"
I gave him my best shocked look. Assured him that I would NEVER ask him to do that.
"Do people actually want to take your photo?" I asked.
A pause. And then before he could answer, his booth partner stood next to him and told me that almost every other customer had wanted to do just that.
"A few have asked him if he could come take a selfie with them," she said.
I made myself look properly shocked. I might have even tsk tsked. I told them that I would NEVER have done that and to have a nice day.
But, when T gets home....we are so going out for coffee because I mean....she needs to see this guy.
She's very crafty. Maybe we could kind of sneakily take his photo. No. She'd never agree to that. She has morals. Good ones.
I wonder how long he will last. I mean, being a celebrity can be a downer, I've heard.
For now, let's just say that Harry Potter makes one mean toffee mocha.
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