Illustration by Bob AulTo the coffeehouse barista who thinks she's so dazzlingly beautiful that my daily kindnesses—in the form of smiling, asking how she's doing, leaving a generous tip along with my sincere thanks—can only be blunt attempts to lure her into my bed; who gossips in front of other coffeehouse patrons that I'm an idiot for thinking she'll ever sleep with a guy my age; who apparently believes I could overlook her impoverished education, lack of general refinement and slovenly dress because of her astonishing physical beauty; who secretly laughs me off as a “45-year-old horndog” trying desperately to glimpse her young breasts. To this barista, I have just three words: get over yourself. I'm as queer as Quentin Crisp, and you're a stupid young woman. While there's no hope of changing the former, there's still some very slim hope you'll do something about the latter. Meantime, I'll keep taking mine black.
—Anonymous Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to “Hey, You!” c/o OC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at
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