FUEL FOR THE HOWLING TYPHOON

Years ago I was often irritated by the Operations Department yacking on, ceaselessly, about inane subjects for most of the day. Because they were hepped to the gills on caffeine. On the other side of the wall I was too. Tea in my case, cappofrappus for them. Because next to the lobby of the office building was a coffee place, there were three Peet's locations within a block, and five Starbucks. Also an Italian place, and a few other joints, easy distance.
It was the Bermuda Triangle of stimulating beverages.
None of them could resist.

I still know way too much about Buffy The Vampire Slayer.
As well as ALL the Real Housewives.

During the working day my tea is un-augmented. But on my days off I like a nice cup of Hong Kong Milk Tea. Which is overstrong black tea with sweetened condensed milk. Bold enough to send you up twenty stories on the rickety bamboo scaffolding again in a howling typhoon for several more hours of hard physical labour in the Accounting Department, tow that barge, lift that bale, count that bean. And tally the bananas. All of them.

In Chinatown it's actually not quite that strong.

Still good, though.


Heading out to lunch soon, at a chachanteng. Set lunch number three, cup of milk tea, pipe smoke, shopping, pastry and another cup at tea time, bellyache about the cold, another smoke, then home again, schlepping groceries.

It's not raining yet, though tomorrow it probably will.
I do not like smoking outside when it rains.
But the tea is an incentive.



Please imagine me at the top of twenty stories of rickety scaffolding with my pipe and my cup of tea, grumbling about all the diseased unmasked people down below safe inside a smoke-free atmosphere, breathing each other's stale air while puritanically whining about the faint, faint wisp of TOBACCO coming in on a draft. "There's smoking going on, where's my pitchfork? Take the kiddies to the bombshelter, the heathens are upon us!"

Enjoy your germ-laden indoor air, bitches.



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