One second, a man is tapping his foot in utter disgust while waiting for his morning lava java. (as if his tardiness is never to blame) The next second, he is on the floor, eyes searching for understanding while his body begins the internal quest for complete, eternal shutdown.
I immediately spring into action with chest compressions. I'm sure Barbara, my lovely, Nebraskan CPR Instructor, would be proud. During circuits of compressions and mouth-to-mouth, my mind attempts to fathom what this complete stranger, this man, is thinking.
Is it for his immediate recovery where like a Junior Varsity cheer dictator he chants me on, "BE AGRESSIVE, B-E-AGRESSIVE"? Is it in line with his recent divo-tude where he faults the entire Starbucks franchise at her lack of urgency and care as well as the indecisive moron at the counter, two professionals ahead, who finally ordered that tall, black coffee?
Adversely, does he visualize his future like that of Scrooge? Is his life only that of unbearable pain and suffering if he refuses to correct his ways? Maybe, he reverts back to childhood memories like that in the cinemas seeing his parents in slow motion, radiant, with smiles and joy? Are his most distant memories his most present thoughts? Or, are his last thoughts his most recent memory?
Does he reminisce in kissing his daughter's tender forehead on his way out to work this morning while she sleeps not knowing this could be her final moments with her beloved father?
Does he think of anything at all?
Fortunately, that is not the type of "heart attack" I am talking about in this edition of Secret Admirer.
In ordering my usual CLR, the counter has stepped-up the flirt. Just see my cup.
This and a smile leads me to believe someone enjoys my presence in the morning.
...Plus, treat receipts are back!
Chi-Love,
J-ROD
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