War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

coffee shop

so I’m in St*rbucks with a pal who happens to be navy and whom I haven’t seen for a few weeks because he’s been in Kingston on workup, and we’re having a little AAR (to misuse the terminology) on his K’ston gig, and a chap sitting next to us overhears our chitchat about TCCC and A’stan and the OCD nature of certain NCO ranks (to which my pal belongs) and pissed FB’ing etc. etc. then proceeds to commandeer the convo for the next hour. and the chap is one of those pleasant over-busy-thinking-but-under-utilized brainiacs and he wants to talk foreign policy and geo-politics and this and that and I sit back and listen and sip my Misto (1/2 caf./non-fat/dark roast) passively while the chap rabbits on about how if only we could get rid of opium poppies and plant something else and how opium poppies are killing us and and and…meanwhile my pal politely speaks of his experience over there, explains what it means to be part of a NATO mission (i.e., “we don’t determine the mission, we participate”), then chap leaves. we chat for awhile about my pal’s upcoming deployment (not to A’stan), then I fill him on my BIG developments when suddenly chap comes back for Part Two of his convo. more speculation on what we can do etc. etc. then my pal and I decide it’s time to go (Saturday chores). as we get up, chap stands up, shakes my pal’s hand, “thank you for serving our country. thank you for everything you’ve done for us.” doesn’t even look at me. my pal and I walk out and chuckle. “let’s go for an adult bevvie” he says. “not today but how does Monday sound?”


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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled coffee shop. It was posted here on March 12, 2011.


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