Pothead Poltergeists
Serving E’ville
I walk a little farther down the street and meet the shops. I pass by Zebra, the tattoo shop. I want a tattoo. There are about five of those parlors just on this street alone. It really is no wonder so many people have then around here. Wish I could get the one I have planed right now while I’m alone. I would too. If I could. I don’t think the people in my town would like it, but I would.
Hours later, after a daze of just walking and dreaming about things I should have said or done for people back home, I find myself back at the Can’t Fail Café. That was a long walk. A really long walk. What to do now? Less people are there so I decide to go in and take a look around again. Maybe I can steel a couple French fries. They are so good here. Did I mention that? Try dipping them in the ranch dressing here. It’s different dressing and it’s great. I don’t even like ranch much.
Anyway, the only problem now is, how to get in? Come to think of it, if I can go through a car then what reason is there to say I can’t go through a wall. All the ghosts get to do it in the stories and the movies. I can’t move something that big so maybe it’s like the car. I press my hands to the cold hard white bricks and push. Before I know what the hell happened, I have fallen through and tripped out the other side nearly falling into a waitress.
I was actually glad to have missed her and fallen onto the tile floor. Otherwise, she would have been knocked over by nothing. Now that would be awkward. Why is this ghost thing so confusing? Is it always this way?
I stood up and brushed myself off. The waitress had on the shirt I had bought last time I was here. It’s black with a skull on the front with a fork and spoon as the cross-bones. And the skull is wearing an old fifties paper diner hat. It’s real cute. On the back of the shirt it says, “Serving E’ville Since 2002.” Do you get it? Evil spelled E’ville as in Emeryville. Yeah, funny. Mike has a good sense of humor. I wonder who came up with that, now that I think of it.
Then the lady waiter gives me a fright or so when she looks my way and asks “Can I get you a seat?” I flip my head back to her and cringe, but almost immediately I realize the couple standing behind me.
Especially when the guy says, “Yeah, that would be great.” And after he said it, I realize the other person in the couple, holding his hand, is another guy. That’s sweet. It’s sad, but you really couldn’t and just plain never see that in my town.
Again, anyway, I teeter through the front and around the corner. It’s a lot quieter now, and there is no one sitting in the way back table by the window so I hop over and take a seat. Literally, I did a bunny hop. I mean, how can you not be happy in a place like this? It’s such a family place really. But in a good happy way where people are smiling, and the only place you see any trace at all of Green Day is on the menu with Wednesday’s Kerplunk! Chicken special. That made me smile. It even had the exclamation mark.
I think I’m sitting at the table where Tre sat in the picture. There were a couple photos of the guys in this café in a Q magazine sometime after American Idiot’s release. I don’t know how I remember that, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Sounds a little obsessive, but you’ve already noticed that about me anyway, and I’m in the mood for it. I mean come on? I’m in Rudie’s!
Man, I love the Barrel of Monkeys theme in this place and the other game board things. Half the tables have stuff inside them under the clear top. There’s little old toys, stamps and pictures under the Plexiglas. Fun to look at.
As I am focusing on that, a waiter comes over with a dishcloth. It scares the hell out of me for a second, but he doesn’t see me. He just cleaned off the table in front of me with a couple of swishes from a wet rag and a few of another to dry it off. He had tattoos all down his arms, but other than that, he looked like a completely normal guy.
It was pretty cool. I sit and admire his tattoos like the dragon on the underside of his right arm. All the colors are just a little faded like he got them all around the same time, but they look awesome all together like that. Everyone has tattoos in this town. Really, almost everyone has a tattoo somewhere and if it’s not that, they have something pierced or colored hair. It’s really my kind of place. That’s not what it’s all about I know, but everyone is so free looking. And those are the people who really look like they feel it too.
I wish I could show off the colored steaks in my hair right now. But come to think of it, being invisible is a tradeoff I can live with.
You know, it’s just nice being in this place where you know that the guys have been a million times before. And hell, not just that, one of them owns the place. Makes it more relaxing here – as well as exciting – to know that I’m safe here I guess. I don’t know them personally of course, but it’s nice to know that if anything were ever to happen, they would care. And I know they do.
There are a couple more people who I know care that way, but they live in LA or New Jersey…or way the hell in Finland. I mean, that is just unfair. I can’t take a plane to Finland and just look around for the hell of it. Those who do live in places like that should take advantage of it. If you don’t, I might have to kill you. Kidding. I wouldn’t kill anyone. I ain’t got the heart for that.
This is a town I know though, and this place is just nice. I hope it always stays this way. But at the rate of business, I’m sure Mike has nothing to worry about for a long long time. Even without advertising one bit. Word of mouth obviously has worked out fine for the place.
Hours later, after a daze of just walking and dreaming about things I should have said or done for people back home, I find myself back at the Can’t Fail Café. That was a long walk. A really long walk. What to do now? Less people are there so I decide to go in and take a look around again. Maybe I can steel a couple French fries. They are so good here. Did I mention that? Try dipping them in the ranch dressing here. It’s different dressing and it’s great. I don’t even like ranch much.
Anyway, the only problem now is, how to get in? Come to think of it, if I can go through a car then what reason is there to say I can’t go through a wall. All the ghosts get to do it in the stories and the movies. I can’t move something that big so maybe it’s like the car. I press my hands to the cold hard white bricks and push. Before I know what the hell happened, I have fallen through and tripped out the other side nearly falling into a waitress.
I was actually glad to have missed her and fallen onto the tile floor. Otherwise, she would have been knocked over by nothing. Now that would be awkward. Why is this ghost thing so confusing? Is it always this way?
I stood up and brushed myself off. The waitress had on the shirt I had bought last time I was here. It’s black with a skull on the front with a fork and spoon as the cross-bones. And the skull is wearing an old fifties paper diner hat. It’s real cute. On the back of the shirt it says, “Serving E’ville Since 2002.” Do you get it? Evil spelled E’ville as in Emeryville. Yeah, funny. Mike has a good sense of humor. I wonder who came up with that, now that I think of it.
Then the lady waiter gives me a fright or so when she looks my way and asks “Can I get you a seat?” I flip my head back to her and cringe, but almost immediately I realize the couple standing behind me.
Especially when the guy says, “Yeah, that would be great.” And after he said it, I realize the other person in the couple, holding his hand, is another guy. That’s sweet. It’s sad, but you really couldn’t and just plain never see that in my town.
Again, anyway, I teeter through the front and around the corner. It’s a lot quieter now, and there is no one sitting in the way back table by the window so I hop over and take a seat. Literally, I did a bunny hop. I mean, how can you not be happy in a place like this? It’s such a family place really. But in a good happy way where people are smiling, and the only place you see any trace at all of Green Day is on the menu with Wednesday’s Kerplunk! Chicken special. That made me smile. It even had the exclamation mark.
I think I’m sitting at the table where Tre sat in the picture. There were a couple photos of the guys in this café in a Q magazine sometime after American Idiot’s release. I don’t know how I remember that, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Sounds a little obsessive, but you’ve already noticed that about me anyway, and I’m in the mood for it. I mean come on? I’m in Rudie’s!
Man, I love the Barrel of Monkeys theme in this place and the other game board things. Half the tables have stuff inside them under the clear top. There’s little old toys, stamps and pictures under the Plexiglas. Fun to look at.
As I am focusing on that, a waiter comes over with a dishcloth. It scares the hell out of me for a second, but he doesn’t see me. He just cleaned off the table in front of me with a couple of swishes from a wet rag and a few of another to dry it off. He had tattoos all down his arms, but other than that, he looked like a completely normal guy.
It was pretty cool. I sit and admire his tattoos like the dragon on the underside of his right arm. All the colors are just a little faded like he got them all around the same time, but they look awesome all together like that. Everyone has tattoos in this town. Really, almost everyone has a tattoo somewhere and if it’s not that, they have something pierced or colored hair. It’s really my kind of place. That’s not what it’s all about I know, but everyone is so free looking. And those are the people who really look like they feel it too.
I wish I could show off the colored steaks in my hair right now. But come to think of it, being invisible is a tradeoff I can live with.
You know, it’s just nice being in this place where you know that the guys have been a million times before. And hell, not just that, one of them owns the place. Makes it more relaxing here – as well as exciting – to know that I’m safe here I guess. I don’t know them personally of course, but it’s nice to know that if anything were ever to happen, they would care. And I know they do.
There are a couple more people who I know care that way, but they live in LA or New Jersey…or way the hell in Finland. I mean, that is just unfair. I can’t take a plane to Finland and just look around for the hell of it. Those who do live in places like that should take advantage of it. If you don’t, I might have to kill you. Kidding. I wouldn’t kill anyone. I ain’t got the heart for that.
This is a town I know though, and this place is just nice. I hope it always stays this way. But at the rate of business, I’m sure Mike has nothing to worry about for a long long time. Even without advertising one bit. Word of mouth obviously has worked out fine for the place.