3 A.M. Series—Wrangle Of Deliriums

Coffee Shop Mouse Drop

I was in the coffee shop the other day working on my portfolio when my trackpad mouse decided to get all weird and cranky. I was quite upset with it, being in the middle of important file keeping and I was tapping it forcefully. A pair of Mouse Police snuck up on me and started buffeting me, accusing me of elder abuse (it’s quite an old and worn looking mouse). They were very persistent about their job and began accusing me of elderly mouse abuse. I told them “I’m the elderly one here fellas!” They looked at each other and one of them rolled his eyes and both were shaking their heads side-to-side. I could see they didn’t believe despite the obvious worn appearance of the entire unit. I flipped it upside down, showing the born on date tag displaying 2014, and told them that I was the elderly one in this picture! They laughed and the skinny one said, “Well Sir, it looks more like a 1914 model to me!” Then, I was the one doing the SMH in disbelief. They told me they were thinking about hauling me to the store — forcing me to buy a new model. I had to whip out my mouse user license and show them I truly was the elderly one in the picture. They continued to harass me about taking care of the poor old thing, asking questions about feeding and watering habits. I was starting to become annoyed but kept my cool until one of them put his hand upon my shoulder. I reached up with my right hand, grabbed his hand, quickly peeled it from the collar-bone and twisting it over to my inside. I placed my other hand on his shoulder joint digging my thumb into his armpit and forcing him to the floor, face against the cold ceramic tile. I exchanged my thumb for a foot to his neck. The other one was shocked, disbelief dripping from his face. His expression of shock that an old mouse abuser could manage such a feat was fuel to my ire. Little did they know, I am a student of the Martial Art of the Soo Hwa Sool Kung Fu discipline. I dared the other one to touch me, his eyes wide with uncertainty. The one whose face was planted against the floor was moaning loudly from the pain I was inflicting and he begged me to release him. I’m not a mean person so I agreed to let him go. His partner helped him up and they went to a table a few feet away to lick their wounded pride.

After a few minutes another of the Mouse Police Force came through the door and went to their table, sat down and started talking with them. I noticed them glancing my way several times and soon the three of them got up and came over to my table. "Sir, did you assault my fellow Mouse Police officer?” I replied, “Nope, I simply defended myself after he assaulted my shoulder with his mousey looking hand.” The assaulter’s face turned red — beet red, and he glared at me. I could feel the fire in his stare. I smiled, do any of you wish to put a hand on my person? The big one took a step forward as if he was gonna play big-shot. I deftly pulled my Glock 20 from my concealed holster under my loose shirt and leveled it at his face. If you could have seen their saucers, hilarious! I could hear my old mouse laughing and squeaking uncontrollably from the tabletop, they heard it also. Looking around they noticed the proprietor of the coffee shop was headed our way with a Beretta 1301 12 gauge. Thinking he was coming to their aid, the skinny one stepped forward with a sly smile, “You’re in for it now, buster. Better slip that hand-cannon back in your britches.” I smiled, knowing the proprietor wasn’t coming to their aid, but to mine. He stuck the barrel of his 1301 into the back of the biggest loudmouth and they froze, face, body, and soul. “You trouble-makers get out of my shop, right now!” I smiled, slipping my Glock 10mm back into its felt lined castle. The three Mouse Policemen sulked toward the door, shoulders drooping, heads hung low, embarrassed being handled by an old mouse abuser and a short coffee shop owner. “The three of you are trespassing on private property, if you come back here within the next month, I will have you officially trespassed and ban each of you from ever coming back — understood?” Almost in unison they replied, “Yes Sir, Mr Munson, we do." With that they slipped out the door. I said, “Thanks, Rob, I thought I was gonna have to spill my coffee for them.” Rob chuckled, saying, “That was fun!” I smiled, as he returned to his duties behind the counter. This is the Southern Red Belt, everybody and their Mother are packin’ heat. We’re not opposed to reminding smart-ass bully’s we aren’t food for the marauding Pack.

They came, they saw, they left in awe,
I finished my coffee in peace,
The Mouse Pack sulked away, raw.

We may be old — longer of tooth,
Experience, a friend of time,
We’ve been there, done that, living proof.

If you see old men, be kind,
Maybe they’ve staged many a coup,
Don’t you cause their spring to unwind.

Bulls don’t take shit, they give it — free.

—Noisy Wren.