Why Shakabuku Hyde Exists

So I walk into a coffee shop, one I haven’t been to before, because the library doesn’t open for another hour, it’s close by, and I need to feed my caffeine addiction. I get a cup of coffee, sit down, and pop open thebinder that serves as my day planner/filing cabinet. A moment later a guy comes in the door, starts to the counter, then turns sharply and walks right up to me.

“You’re in my seat,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re in my seat,” he says again. “I’m a regular here. I come here every day. That’s my seat.”

“Okay, well, it wasn’t marked as reserved or anything. I’ll be out of here in a few minutes, you can have it then.”

“No,” he says. “That. Is. My. Seat.” He’s looking pretty angry, and getting red in the face.

“Alright, I’m going to suggest three ways to handle this. First, you can piss off, because it’s a coffee shop and unless you’re the owner it’s not ‘your’ seat. Second, you can go and get the manager and see if he or she will enforce your squatter’s rights to this chair. Third, we can continue this discussion in the parking lot, because you look like you’re going to take swing at me and if I’m gonna have to kick your ass I’d prefer to do it where bystanders won’t get hit by your flying corpse.”

He took option two. The manager told him, in polite language, to reconnect with reality and piss up a rope.

I finished what I was doing and leave, as was my plan. Just needed to check my notes and kill time until the library opens. At the library, I stood outside next to  trash can, backpack on my shoulder, sipping the dregs of my coffee before I go in. Waste not, want not, and as I said, I’m an addict. I’d finish it even if it were stone cold and bitter and it was getting close to that point.

As I’m standing there, a woman crosses the parking lot toward the entrance, but stops next to me. “You can’t take that coffee inside the library.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m standing out here to finish it before I go in.”

“There’s no food or drink allowed inside the library,” she says.

Blink. “Am I in the library right now?” I ask, possibly with a hint of annoyed sarcasm.

“No, but just so you know, you can’t take that inside,” she says.

“Look, lady, I don’t know if you’re an overzealous librarian or just an upright citizen with too much time on her hands, but I’m not IN the goddamn library, I’m standing OUTSIDE the library, I know the goddamn rules, and you’re starting to piss me off. Is there someone, say, INSIDE that you could be annoying?”

“Just don’t bring that coffee inside,” she says, and go into the library.

WTF?

Now, inside the library there’s a walled area where the public computers are. Half-wall, you can see the people in there checking there email and doing whatever it is they do. At certain times of the day, there’s a queue because there are more people than computers. So far as I know there’s no time limit or anything, so people just sort of hover waiting for someone else to be done. Outside this little corral is a long table, with outlets, for people who bring their own laptops. That’s where I typically set up. So I’m working, writing, keeping an eye out for the crazy coffee-enforcement lady, wondering if she’s somehow related to, possibly married to, mister “that’s my seat”. I’m there for a while, writing, and have to use the restroom and recycle the coffee.  No problem, I tilt the screen down and walk over the men’s room.

When I come back, there’s a woman using my laptop. “Um, EXCUSE me,” I say. Quietly, as it’s a library. Probably not politely in tone, but more polite than I’m feeling.

“Oh, I’ll be done in  minute, I just need to check my email,” she says.

“No, you’ll be done NOW. That’s not a library computer, that’s MY computer, and it’s not there for public use.”

“Well, you weren’t using it,” she says.

“It’s doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to not raise my voice but still sound forceful. “It’s my computer, I got up for a moment, that doesn’t give you the right to just jump in!”

“Well, I’ll be done in a minute,” she says.

The battery on my laptop is dead. Dead-dead. Doesn’t hold a charge. Does not work when unplugged. This is why I save frequently, in case of a power outage or surge or something. I saved before I when to the john. So reached down and unplugged it.

“Buh, wha, why did you do that? I lost the email I was sending!”

“Not you computer, lady. You do not have permission to use this machine. My laptop, my rules. Go complain to a librarian. Call a cop, for all I care. Just go away before I actually get angry and make a scene that gets us both kicked out.”

She ratted on me to a librarian. She told the librarian I was rude. The librarian spoke to her as if she were a child and told her not to touch other peoples’ things without permission.

This kind of crap happens to me all too often. I’m like a magnet for the insane. Is it any wonder why I developed a dark alter-ego to deal with this nonsense?