michael.

"write drunk. edit sober." - ernest hemingway


not exactly my favorite author, but consider that quote a disclaimer to this blog. actually, just the first part. you will probably come across content that cannot be unread or unseen; courtesy of my awesome ability to filter the internet for totally useless information (often but not always), inebriated.


i also think the best parts of my life are the the strange people i meet and the conversations i end up having with them. these things need to be written down so i don't forget. hopefully for my readers, they will serve as some form of amusement.


today, i will introduce you to michael (mee-kahl?)--the french baker that usually makes my coffee. i've been going to this particular french-vietnamese bakery for over a year, long enough for us to have a relationship beyond the transaction. if time permits, he takes a break and we sit outside and chat over a cigarette. during one of our earlier conversations, he taught be a bunch of french words but unfortunately i'm only able to remember one: gateux. cake! i've never had their cakes before and i'm kind of afraid of trying it, ever. i feel like it will suck and i will like michael less because he lacks baking skills and the fact that he makes the perfect cafe sua da (condensed milk ratio is key) won't compensate for it. i know, i'm petty.


it's raining, i'm running late and shivering and there is a customer ahead of me. a new girl started working there recently, but i've not had to deal with her until today. but michael's occupied so she asked if she could help me. i mumbled something along the lines of "i'd rather have him make it" and before i could even finish the sentence, i felt like a total asshole. i'm not sure how offended she was. i tried to apologise as i'm paying for my coffee but that was in mumbles, too so who knows what might be in my coffee next time michael's not there...


i wasn't intending to linger today, but i felt silly after that social hiccup. the remedy? michael and a virginia slim ultra light menthol. as he's sitting across from me in a white t-shirt and pants, i realise how very un-bakerish he would be if you take him out of his element. nothing stands out about him until he opens his mouth and the charming accent is revealed. he lights my cigarette first and then lights his own, a marlboro red. the awning doesn't provide much cover and i'm freezing. staring at him in his thin white shirt makes me colder. the customer from earlier returned and asked michael for napkins, i thought it was strange that he didn't go inside and take some from the dispenser himself. we talk, about work. i ask him who the girl inside is and learned that she is his boss's husband's daughter. it suddenly dawned on me how much i knew about their family. the owner had shown me a picture of her son on her phone once, he's 32 and lives in france (she said he got deported, i did not ask why). i had met two of her other sons when they worked at the bakery: one now works at pepboys and the other one is still in highschool. i've also met her daughter, but never knew that the husband had his own. the only child they have together is the youngest son. he also seemed like the least dysfunctional of the bunch, but it could just be he's too young to know that life is gonna suck.


i don't finish my cigarette--it's too cold to sit outside.  he sends me off with his usual goodbye line "don't kill your boss!" to which i reply "we'll see."