Kid1’s state emissions/safety inspection for her vehicle (affectionately known as “Charlie”) was due, so I figured I’d do her a solid and get that taken care of while she slept in. She works hard during the week. It’s the least I could do.
So, knowing that there’d be a slight wait as it was a Saturday morning, I took a book so I could wait at a nearby Starbucks.
I find a chair outside as the weather was nice. It was by the main entrance.
And I begin to notice that people are looking at me with furrowed brow and confused countenance as they open the door. They repeat the process on the way out, too. I’m wondering why. So, I check myself. Buttons buttoned. Zippers zippered. Hair brushed. Teeth brushed. I even had shoes on with the laces tied. Hmmmmm.
Then I noticed: The book in my hand. The cover…
…in font that looks like a ransom note…
PLEASE KILL ME.
Of course, the subtitle is “The Uncensored Oral History of Punk” but you couldn’t really see that from the way I was holding the book.
You know, there’s not really a way to explain that to soccer moms with children ready for the big game in tow, in the short time from car to door and back out.
You’d think I’d have been a little more quick on the draw because no less than two years ago I’d gotten those same looks for reading a book for work that someone asked me to critique titled “Every Young Woman’s Battle.” It was about helping teenage young ladies deal with intimate issues from a Biblical perspective and someone wanted to know if it was “sound.” So they asked me to read it. I had some time. So, why not?
Again…there’s not really a way to explain that in a coffee shop encounter.
I’ve got to be a little more thoughtful with what I’m reading in public, man.