I’m in a crowded Hollywood coffee shop on a Tuesday afternoon in January. Everyone’s head is buried in a laptop, fresh from holiday euphoria, and ready to take on the world. We’re writing the next great screenplay, tv pilot, web series, or tweet. A tourist might beg the question “Doesn’t anybody here work?” A Hollywood coffee shop is just as packed on a Tuesday afternoon, as it would be on a Saturday morning. There’s no rhythm of the nine to five. The 101 freeway has concert-heavy traffic at all hours of any day. Everyone is going any which way, at any given time, like a drum circle where no one is listening to anyone else. So the consonance of the people here is better measured by the mood at a café, and not the heaviness of a rush hour, which lasts between 2pm and 9pm.
The general mood here is determination. It's time, this is my year. You can hear everyone’s keys tapping away, one guy lacking a certain grace that irritates me. His heavy fingers smack the enter key with every triumphant sentence. Smack! Another brilliant one.
It’s fairly quiet except for the table next to me, where two chatty ladies sit with giant cups of cappuccinos. The foam doubles the height of the cups, and has to be scooped onto their saucers before sipping. One is doing all the talking, and her foam is deflating. She seems to never have had a thought that didn’t immediately come out of her mouth, like the first couple years of her life that she couldn’t speak put her in a deficit, and she’s been trying to catch up since.
I am sitting at a communal table, and the man who came and sat across from me is drunk. His mouth agape and motor skills compromised, he tries to carry on a conversation with me as he unpacks his Dell, so I put on headphones. I’m not listening to music, I just want to give the illusion that I’m not capable of paying any attention. It’s my real life version of the red dot on gchat.
He tries to move his computer, but the wires tip his glass, and he almost spills his water all over the Mac infested table. He spews a few select slurred words, and gets into an altercation with the guy to my left, attacking him about his own wires being in existence. Everyone looks up, because it is the most interesting thing going on in any of our lives at the moment. The other guy decides to leave the commune, making it just him and me on this side of the table, and I do not want to be left alone with him. He has a seat and collects himself, in that funny indignant drunken way. It’s like dumping a bottle of ketchup on your shirt, and then dabbing it with a little club soda. He opens his briefcase, and shuffles a few papers. He closes his briefcase. His briefcase serves no purpose. It’s a prop.
“I slept with my best friend.” The lady who won’t stop talking went on. The girl she was with perked up,“finally, something worth listening to.” I perked up too, and took off my headphones. Even the cappuccino foam perked up a little. “And I’m not sure what is going to happen now. We’re going to hang out this week, but I’m not sure if it’s going to be like let’s go out on a date, or let’s just hang out like normal, like what if he just wants to make sure things are still normal between us?”
The drunk man rolled his eyes and looked at me for solidarity, but I was on her side. There’s something to be said for expectations, and how they will ruin your life. She expects their relationship to change, and judging by her insecurity, he probably expects it to stay the same. And that gap in expectations could possibly ruin their friendship. And for some reason it’s his call. Why isn’t it her call? Why can’t she say "I don’t accept your non-responsibility for the situation, and you are now my boyfriend"? A woman has all the power until she sleeps with a guy. Then everything shifts, he has the upper hand, and Ben and Jerry will eventually have to step in where he left off.
I realise I got sucked into everyone’s drama instead of working, but that’s ok because, eavesdropping is working. Could the angry drunken man actually be lovable deep down? Will this woman lose her best friend or marry him? This is every day drama for any city, but in Hollywood, we’re listening, logline brewing, and Final Draft open with the heading: INT. COFFEE SHOP – DAY.
Maria Shehata is a comedian and writer for 'My Super Overactive Imagination' and lives in Los Angeles, you can visit her site HERE!
