It happened at Mucho Mocha

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Dave
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Dave » Wed Aug 05, 2015 10:44 pm

TazManiac wrote:I should mention I was born into a family that had Moms in a Peugeot most of my childhood and Pops campaigning a DS Citroen Wagon, what with it's space-age styling and shared Hydraulic Brakes/Suspension systems.
Oh, man, small world... my mother bought herself a Citroen (don't remember the model) when I was partway through high school... one of the only times she ever indulged in anything which even vaguely resembled a luxury. It's one of the two cars I first learned to drive (the other being our old Buick, whose idea of steered direction was always rather approximate). Mom always swore that Citroen seats were the only car seats that didn't hurt her back... in fact I recall that she managed to salvage a Citreon seat from a junkyard and had it mounted on an office-chair base, for use in her bio lab.

I'll always remember the time we picked up the car at a valet-tended parking lot in downtown Philadelphia. The kid who had fetched the car got out, eyes as big as saucers, looked at Mom and said "Lady... does this car go up when you start it??" :lol:

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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by jwhouk » Wed Aug 05, 2015 11:02 pm

That's nothing. I learned to drive on a Renault.

(Granted, it was an AMC Renault Alliance, and my first regular "car" was an Encore, but still...)

---
I went over to the counter.

"Hey, Tina, wife wants me to bring back one home. Chai Latte..."

"...Cinnamon and Nutmeg with an extra dollop of creamer?" She smiled her toothy smile. "Got it." She promptly handed it to me.

"I love this place," I said, forking over the cash and smiling as I headed out the door.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin

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Just Old Al
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Just Old Al » Thu Aug 06, 2015 8:23 am

Stan charged out the door of the coffee shop - wincing at the abuse he and his car had taken. That place was genuinely spooky - the barista with the fangs, the old gents in the corner....however they DID make a great cup of coffee. He took a pull at the mocha/java in his hand, enjoying the extra tang of the peppermint as he contemplated his troubles again.

While he was doing that an older gent walked up the street. A firm step with a slight limp directed toward the coffee shop faltered slightly as a vagrant breeze brought him the smell of carbonizing electrical components, and he turned toward the defunct Tiger with purpose.

"OK, what did it burn up?" he said to Stan, eyeing the otherwise-magnificent lines of the Tiger.

Stan started, his creep-factor meter finally pinning and bending the needle. "Why do you think it burned something? Is everyone in this damn neighborhood a mechanic?"

The old gent smiled, and Stan relaxed a bit. Obviously this guy wasn't some random nutcase and he might be able to tell him where to find a parts shop - or a tow company.

"Well, some of us are - especially on prime British iron. Never been overly fond of Brit cars with American engines, but the lines of the Tiger are just classic. Allow me to introduce myself. " he said, and reached into his pocket for a business card.

Stan read aloud, "Richer Engineering - Have Fedora Will Travel - British cars repaired, serviced and rebuilt." With a bit of wonder Stan realized that a solution to his problem might have just walked up to him on the street.

"So, what did it barbecue?" the old gent said, trying to redirect the conversation. Grimacing again, Stan replied "The generator - damn Lucas components just don't work!"

"Mind if I look?" Al took off his fedora, dug a tactical flashlight out of his pocket and leaned into the engine compartment after raising and locking the bonnet in the open position. he scanned the engine compartment with a practiced eye, noting the clean, tidy appearance that showed a caring owner. The light flickered here and there and then settled on the defunct generator and its control box. Al then started laughing, uttering a muttered curse of "godsdamned bodge artists..." before turning off the light and turning back to Stan.

"OK, so who put the Lucas dynamo on here?" Stan replied a bit defensively, "I did - it's the third one it's cooked recently. I'm just sick of the damned thing."

"Good reason it's cooking dynamos - you've got a Ford control box trying to deal with a Lucas dynamo. That is just a recipe for disaster. it will work for a while, then the overcurrent in the cut-out will eventually bugger the contacts and it will do what you're seeing - stick closed and cook the dynamo when it should be cutting out on full charge."

"This car needs a Ford dynamo - they call them generators - and the proper control box to match. The dynamo on this thing is likely off an Alpine - they used a Lucas setup as they weren't an American/British combination."

"The dynamo that goes on here is generic Ford from the mid-60s - Fairlane or what have you. Cheap and easy to get - they used them on tractors till the mid-70s. If we disconnect the wiring and isolate it then you can drive it over to my shop. I'm about 5 blocks from here and I have the parts you need on the shelf."

"Lastly - let me guess - you bought it this way?"

"Yes, I did. I am going to have a very long conversation with the import company I bought this thing off!"

"Well, that's neither here nor there. Right now we need to isolate the dynamo, and I need to get some coffee in my bloodstream before we fix this. I'm going to nip in and visit Tina and then we can be on our way."

"OK! GREAT! I can do that. Let me warm you, though, there's a couple of guys over in the corner who were giving me grief about the gen..er dynamo and telling me to stick all sorts of junkyard parts on this thing to fix it."

"Oh, bloody lovely. More duct-tape bodge artists - I see their handiwork all the time. This could be fun." Al smiled,, re-donnned his fedora and wandered into the shop, whistling nonchalantly.

Greg and Beej had been observing the situation outside the shop for a few minutes, interested in the goings-on. When Stan started opening his toolkit and tinkering under the hood and the old gent entered the shop their curiosity got the better of them and they got up to talk.

"So, what's the kid doing out there? Not like he's going to find a generator for that thing here." Greg started. Al snickered quietly to himself - he'd been expecting this.

"So, you two the lot that told him to hang a bunch of junkyard parts of that fine bit of British design out there? Why would you even consider that when the repair is simple, and inexpensive to boot? Any road up and using what you can scavenge may be all well and good when you can't get the proper bits, but really now...junkyard parts? Quite improper and totally uncalled for."

Both Greg and Beej were taken completely aback by the stranger's attitude and expressions. Junkyard parts and scavenging? What the hell?

"Now look here, you..." Greg growled, but the old gent started up again. " I have no objection to upgrading components and doing away with the sillier bits of British design, but just hanging random junk on a car to get it running is just unconscionable. "

THWACK! "HOLD!"

All heads turned toward the counter, where Tina was brandishing a yardstick - the same one she had just slapped on the counter.

"OK, ground rules. 1. Anything you break you pay to replace. 2. No weapons. 3. Al...Kona, brewed strong, with light cream and Demara sugar, right?"

"Yes, dear, that would be wonderful. Please make it a large - I've a feeling I'm going to need the help this morning."

Greg finally realized he had a full-on Limey in his face - one to match the car. His temper, not tranquil on the best of days, began to rise as he saw the Engllishman winding up for another round of abuse.

"OK, just HOLD IT. We did NOT tell him to hang a bunch of junkyard crap off that engine, but suggested he replace the generator and control box with a Bosch alternator and the proper bracket from a later 289. This way he could eliminate the unreliable Lucas crap completely and move on."

"Lucas - unreliable? Only when worked with by ham-handed mechanics who don't understand the elegance of the systems. Then of course it won't work right!"

"Ham-handed? Who the hell are you calling ham-handed you Limey jerk! I will have you know..."

"Ham-handed I said and I meant! When in danger when in doubt swap in American components - don't understand what's there...no, it would be too easy to just fix and maintain what's there!"

"Dammit, Greg... not again..." Beej moaned.

That did it, Greg swung, and found his punch stopped in midair and blocked. Another attempt produced the same result, and Greg realized that this guy had worn a uniform as well. The realization also seemed to come to the Englishman and he stopped, visibly composed himself and said, "1 Para till I got messed up in the Sierra Leone deployment, then I went REME rather than retire. And you?"

Greg grinned, all heat dissipated. "Red Devils?!? I'm 101 Airborne!!! CURAHEE!!! We're blood brothers from 'Market Garden'!!!"

The Englishman laughed - "Should have recognized another old warrior. So, what the hell did you tell the kid to do, anyway?"

"We told him to get an alternator bracket off a later engine and get a new Bosch alternator to hang off the car - and keep the original parts for the next owner. It would look and perform perfectly, and is a clean solution to the Lucas problem."

Al collected his coffee from a visibly-relieved Tina, added a pastry, and with the other two wandered over to their table in the corner and introductions were exchanged. With a sip of coffee in and a bite of the pastry appreciated, the discussion began in earnest.

"On this we're going to have to agree to disagree. The Lucas problem as you call it is mostly down to the fact that most of the assemblies (other than recent abominations) are a half-century old or more. If rebuilt properly the major components are as reliable as the day is long - and much easier to maintain."

Another round of coffees produced, and the talk flowed amiably until they noticed Stan lowering the hood on the Tiger.

"I think your ride's ready" Beej said. "he seems anxious too get the damn thing fixed - i think he's got a hot date or something." Greg grinned, and handshakes and calling cards were exchanged.

With that, Al walked out to deal with the sickly Tiger.

Stan smiled seeing the Englishman exit the shop - he had seen nothing of the altercation inside. "So, give them an earful did you?"

"Yes, i did, and they gave me one too. If done right what they suggested was a great idea - not something I'd do, but functional and elegant. Now, let's get over to my place and get this thing fixed."

The two men climbed into the Tiger, the engine started, and they moved off.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."

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Dave
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Dave » Thu Aug 06, 2015 10:29 am

Always good to see a couple of experts realize that they are in violent agreement! :lol:

And it's good to see that that car can be saved... it's a classic... and of course it's prone to cook its components. It's a Tiger.

TIger, Tiger, burning bright  
In the forests of the night,  
What immortal hand or eye  
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Sgt. Howard » Thu Aug 06, 2015 10:47 am

Beej looked at Greg in total disgust- "I can't take you anywhere, can I?"
Greg snorted- "First of all, YOU didn't bring me here... secondly, he insulted my skills,"
"YOUR SKILLS?!?" roared Beej, "I still remember a 1967 FAIRLAIN where you engineered a moonroof that NEVER held out the weather! Your failures are as spectacular as your successes, old man! And that's not even counting your three divorces,"
Greg was laughing heartily through this tirade.
"... and that 4 gauge flintlock elephant gun? How long did it take your shoulder to heal? Six weeks? To say nothing of that stupid 'Banzi Bomb' that you cavorted with before we found out it could take a chunk off a house... and you're doing some Jerry Lewis juggleing routine with it... or that time you replaced a timing chain only to have Mike Pope discover the eccentric for the oil pump on the air cleaner... WHERE YOU LEFT IT... and then poor Mike had to run for his life while you chased him with a wrench... BECAUSE HE LAUGHED? YOU, SIR, ARE YOUR OWN WORST ENEMY!"
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.

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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Sgt. Howard » Thu Aug 06, 2015 2:02 pm

"I will admit," Beej continued, "That had to be the QUICKEST resolution to one of you blowups that didn't leave a broken body on the floor,"
"I COULDN'T TOUCH HIM!" Greg countered, "He knew what I was going to do before I did it- what's more, he couldn't touch me- and he knew that as well. We would have 'danced' for some time until somebody got tired or careless- hell, I knew I was in trouble with the first block,"
"Is that why he called a halt to it? Greg, I've NEVER seen anybody block your punch... except with their face... or gut... or something crunchy..."
"Yea, well... that's what happens when two SF types tangle. It comes to a quick stalemate unless it's serious,"

Tina listened to the conversation- finally butting in, "You guys REALLY take your cars that seriously? I mean, Jeez Greg- you were ready to knock him down,"
"SOME of us do... " Greg replied, "... and truth be told, he was insulting my abilities (Beej snerked at this) more than anything else. But don't judge us all by me, I KNOW I'm a hot head- I'm just more likely to react than most,"
"What did you mean, 'Blood Brothers'?"
Greg leaned back in his chair... the usual signal that he had a decent story to tell. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh.
"Mid September, 1944- the Allied plan to liberate Holland was a bold strike to create a pathway through to the German border- it was a combined forces effort with Monty in charge. The British First Para dropped into Arnhem -right at the border- with the idea that subsequent landings and advances would catch up to them in time. It didn't quite work that way... the First Para found themselves holed up in a private residence until the night of the 25th when members of the 101 provided cover for them to be ferried across the Rhine and back into Allied controlled territory. The two units still claim a close tie to this day,"
Tina absorbed this as she did the continual 'housecleaning' that is required of any place that serves food- the two men came to blows and parted good friends... testosterone is a funny stuff alright...
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.

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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Just Old Al » Fri Aug 07, 2015 9:03 am

The roll-up door in the small building was much like any other on that back alley - miscellaneous, nondescript and nearly
unnoticeable. The small plaque next to it labeled "Richer Engineering" was almost lost in the dust of the vehicles
traveling up and down on their errands to the surrounding business district.

The sleek British roadster rollled up to the door under direction, and the old gent hopped out, unlocked a control box and
rolled the door up under power, turning on the lights and stepping inside. The roadster rolled in and was directed to the
left, next to a bench fronting an extensive set of electrical equipment that looked like it came from a 1950s science
ficion movie.

The rest of the large work bay was much the same, clean, white-painted walls with a few work spaces delineated by benches
and arrangements of power equipment. Doors led off this to a rear office and parts store, and the interior was brightly
lit both by halogen lights and skylights let into the ceiling.

The roadster shut down, and Stan hopped out , raising the bonnet to give the engine a moment to cool. Al disappeared into
the office area momentarily to reappear wearing an ancient RAF flight suit and a Land-Rover ball cap. Returning, he
wheeled a large stand-mounted worklight over to the front end of the Tiger and set it to work, brilliantly illuminating
the tidy engine bay.

"OK, let's get at this, then. Stan, you can either hang out in the office area out back - there's a TV, coffee pot and
library shelves there if it suits you, or you can hang back here next to the bench. I just have to ask that you stay back
unless asked - I'm more than happy to chat, but I need work space."

"If you think I'm going to sit in the office when you're fixing this rustbucket you're mistaken - I want to watch!" Stan
said gleefully. While more than competent doing parts swaps and diagnosis on his car he wasn't all that comfortable with
it - the opportunity to watch someone who really had a clue and learn was never a bad thing, and Stan was bright enough to
realize it.

"OK, works for me! It gets quiet out here anyway, and I'll spare you the stuff I normally listen to when I'm alone back
here." With that, Al grabbed an Avometer and dove in, tracing connections and examing the wiring in the modified generator
setup.

As he worked, the quiet grew a bit too much for Stan, and thoughts he'd had after his visit to Mucho Mocha spilled out.
"Y'know, I just do not BELIEVE the people back there in that coffee shop! I walk in, car broken down, just trying to get a
cup of coffee and get my bearings and get gang-insulted by the patrons and owner of the place! That silver-eyed psycho
behind the counter actually called my car an English Whore! Whore, mind you! She laughed at it. Some people!"

"I just don't get it - what kind of a way is that for people to act!"

Al looked up from unbolting the control box from its wiring and the inner wing and replied, "That is just ridiculous! Tina
and I are going to have some words about her taste in cars - of course all of that came from a woman who managed to run
over and break her own arm while parallel parking a few years ago!"

Stan barked out a laugh. "Really? That is hilarious! She ran over her own arm?"

"Yes, sure as houses she did. Didn't even slow her down as far as the business though - she worked one-armed with her
assistant Becky helping on the hard stuff for a while. It's hard to make a latte one-handed."

Control box out, the spade lugs for its wiring replaced with the proper ring lugs, Al moved on to fitting the new control
box in its place, screwing it down after cleaning the mounting points of paint and debris.

Suddenly, a sly espression crossed Al's face. "Stan, seems to me that the gauntlet has been thrown down. We're going to do
a bit of extra work here - Miss Tiger Moth here is going to get a thorough checkout and then you are going to go back
there and offer Miss Guzman a ride in your so-called "English Whore." "

"There are few things more exhilarating than skimming along a proper road - not a superhighway, mind you, but a proper
twisty road like a British A-road - in an English touring car or a roadster. The wind in your hair, the thrumming of the
engine telegraphing up through the firm cushions, the slight flexing of the chassis as the car tackles the curves...all of
that adds up to a high that it's hard to get any other legal way. I've heards these cars described as sex with tyres on it
- and that is not at all far off."

"It's very different from an American "sports car" - it's not blasting along at insane speeds in an open bucket. It's a
marriage of control, sensation and being one with your ride - friends who ride horses have told me it's much like jumping
a thoroughbred in the ring."

Stan looked thoguhtful for a moment, his feelings telegraphing through his face plainly. Irritation at his wounded pride,
alternating with the remembered exhilaration of the moments as Al described them with a strong undercurrent of fear of
rejection and further put-downs. All of this played across his face and through his eyes for measured seconds that felt
like millennia - then they collapsed to resolve.

"That sounds like a GREAT idea.." Stan said, ckhuckling quietly at the thought of getting some of his own back on the
smug, skinny barista.

Control box in, new generator on the cart next to the car, Al removed the old one remarking "This is still a rebuildable
core - the field windings are none too happy but the rest is usable. I'll give you a credit against it - I can fix it and
put it in stock. You OK with that?"

Stan, lost in his own reverie, didn't hear the question for a second, then replied hurriedly, "Sure! Not a problem." A
further thought assailed him. "Al, I hate to ask, but how bad is the bill going to be for this?"

"Don't worry about it." Al remarked offhandedly, as he pressed the pulley off the old dynamo. "The dynamo is less than a
hundred parts cost to me - I'll pass that along. Control box is seventy-five or so - I'll have to look it up. The labor's
going to be an hour and a half or so plus the tuning on top of that."

Stan was stunned. Altogether this was going to add up to less than what he'd shelled out in dynamos over the past month.
"You sure about those prices?" "Yes, I am. if you like I can raise them." Al turned toward Stan and grinned as he
tightened up the last bolt on the generator, then put a bar on it to tension the belt.

The old mechanic reached for a bundle of cables dangling from an overhead wire trolley, and hooked several of them to the
Tiger's electical system. He then dragged over the hose of a fume extractor and put it over the exhaust pipe, clamping it
in place, and turned on the electrical feed to the fume extractor.

"OK, hop in and fire it up. Hold it at an idle, then raise the RPM when I tell you to - I need to check the charging."
Stan hopped in and lit up the big Ford V8. The meters on the panel behind the bench began to move, indicating the
electrical health of the small car.

"OK, looks good. Give me 2000 RPM. Drop to idle. 2500 RPM. Idle."

"That's working perfectly. Battery isn't great given the abuse it took, but you're fine for now. Dump it at the end of the
season and put in a new one in Spring."

"OK, shut it down." The old wires were disconnected from the Tiger, and a new set from a different wire trolley took their
place.

"Start it up again." An oscilloscope came to life on the panel, jagged spikes showing on its screen.

"OK, that's not right." The old mechanic disappeared under the bonnet with a wrench, and the sound of the car altered
subtly - smoothing a bit and quieting. Stopping and starting the car, several further adjustments were made till the car
seemed to quiver with repressed energy.

"OK, all's well." Give me your address and I'll send you a bill for the work - I don't run to a credit card machine here
and such. You can send me a check then."

Stan was suddenly eager to be off. Though he'd enjoyed watching the old mechanic work, his pride in his car demanded a
rematch with Tina. Tina Guzman...what a great name...

Door open, Stan backed the Tiger carefully out of the bay and back onto the street. Waving, he set off back downtown to
have a rematch with a certain barista.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."

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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by TazManiac » Fri Aug 07, 2015 10:14 am

It makes a difference, being connected to the road directly. Not this new fly by wire stuff of today.

It can be great driving, even when you don't have a bunch of power under the hood.

'Better to dance than to Wrassle...'

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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Sgt. Howard » Fri Aug 07, 2015 11:56 pm

It was getting close to closing at Mucho Mocha- all customer traffic was gone, the machines were powered down and Tina was going through the last bit of her daily checklist before shutting the lights and locking the door. She had already packed away what few of Becky's delicacies remained to take home... day old pastries were never allowed in her shop... the espresso machine and the main coffee urns had been drained and cleaned, everything wiped down, the floor mopped, perishables put away and rubbish taken outside to the dumpster.
Any cockroach attempting a free meal would starve.
At four minutes to the hour, a car pulled up outside- just off the view of her front window. Since there were businesses on either side that were open later than herself, she paid no mind to it.
Then the bell on the front door chimed.
"Sorry, I'm clo...." she stopped in mid-word.
Standing in the doorway was Stanley. His aura spoke of pride and a small streak of malice... or was that arrogance?
Or... hmmmm...
Purposely, he strode up to her and asked,
"Can I drive you home?"

Here the gentle reader might benefit from the author's beliefs regarding the differences observed between American and British sports machines...
The American machine tends to have a rigid frame, a firewall between the driver and the road where the suspension serves as a mute interface. The British machine tends to flex with the road, speaking directly to the driver through the suspension. The American machine tends to rely on brute horsepower to accomplish it's goals. The British machine nurtures it's horsepower and relies on it's relationship with the corners to do the same.
The American machine conquers the road.
The British machine seduces it.

For either the driver or the passenger, the experience is quite... sensual...

Scampering around corners fast enough to squeak the tires on occasion, Tina was having an absolute ball as Stan pushed the limits ever so slightly around Lake Minnetonka. Stan was enjoying himself as well- seldom would his Sunbeam performed as well as it would with a fresh tune-up and carb adjustment. The throttle seemed to anticipate his foot- a recurrent theme in a British machine in good repair. The brakes were for quick jabs only- one controlled speed between the throttle and the gears, down-shifting instead of hitting the pedal in the middle. The ease of the Ford 4 speed transmission's shifting made the whole effort look quite simple, and the robust nature of the 302 V-8 engine made acceleration a given.
"Care to give it a try?" Stan yelled over the slipstream.
"I don't dare," Tina replied, "I never did learn how to manage a clutch. You know, this is quite out-of-the-way from my place,"
"Are you complaining?"
"Not really... at least, I don't think I am... why do you let out the clutch in neutral?"
"Very observant- it's called 'double clutching', and it's used when you don't have synchromesh to get into gears ... you get the gear spinning with the engine before you engage... it's more of a habit here, this transmission doesn't require it- here, look out!"
Stan deliberately goosed the throttle hard enough to break traction as he made a remarkably tight turn. Rubber squealing and sliding the rear end as he layed into it, he eased off the throttle just enough to regain the road coming out of the turn. Tina was totally beside herself-
"WHAAAAA!!!! HOW?!?WHAT?!?OMGOMGOMG!!!!!... why aren't we dead?!? OMG!!! DON'T DO THAT!!!!"
Stan just laughed.
"DAMMIT!!! STAN, PULL OVER!!!"
"OK OK I'll take it easy, al..."
"STAN- IF YOU VALUE YOUR UPHOLSTERY..."
"I'm pulling over!"
He brought the car to a halt where the woods tumbled down into the lake- Tina was out in a flash in desperate search of cover... which she found soon enough. A slight groan told Stan that her needs had been met... then a silence... then, a rather timid voice called out,
"S... Stan...?... could you see if there's any tissue paper in my purse...? and then we need to work something out here..."
Stan nearly bit through his knuckle trying not to laugh.
After quite a few false starts, Stan managed to deliver the purse, walking with his hand covering his eyes such that he saw only the ground in front of himself. Once back in the car, Tina was not long before she returned, blushing but much happier.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Shut up and drive," she responded with a giggle.
The rest of the trip home was quite pleasant and uneventful- Stan took her to her door and asked, "Do you see the attraction now?"
Tina smiled- "Yes... but aren't there other cars that can do the same thing?"
"Perhaps," smiled Stan, "but not in the same way- thank you for your company, now I need to get on to other things,"
"Like Home?" she asked... and immediately blushed, not knowing why.
"No, I'm in town on extended business- school's out of season, and the only thing waiting for me there is the cat- I've got a neighbor kid taking care of him," he blushed as well, not really certain why he should.
"Perhaps I'll see you around then?" Tina's various factions were on the verge of mutiny... "I gotta go," and she slipped in the door and shut it.
Stan was totally confused- not only by HER reaction, but also by HIS reaction. He only wanted to show this 'skinny tin-eyed broad' WHY his car was cool- she was thirty something, he was pre-middle aged... they were NOT a pair of second year high school students where the guy just got his license...
Must have been something he ate... maybe...

... and on the other side of the door, another quandary was breaking out in four voices...

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!?" "He is harmless... and his car is kinda cool," "WHAT ARE YOU? FOURTEEN?" "I am the same age as you are, thank you very much, and I had fun," "Actually, I'm thinking I would like to do it again... but can we learn how to drive a clutch?" "I DON"T BELIEVE YOU TWO!!! HOW'S HE GOING TO HANDLE IT WHEN WE SHUT OFF THE EYES AT NIGHT? HE"S A HUMAN!!! AND HE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT OUR WORLD!!!"
"If I may..."
and there was silence,
"... he has asked us out for a ride to show off his car. He is a bit older than we are, yet he acts somewhat adolescent. I find him annoying... cute, but annoying. If YOU want to make a big tirade out of it, do so on your own time. If YOU want to play with him, you WILL check with the rest of us. AND AS FOR YOU- No. No clutch. Totally out of the question. Do not even consider it. I still have nightmares about you parallel parking.
Now... goodnight
!"
Last edited by Sgt. Howard on Sun Aug 09, 2015 2:01 am, edited 7 times in total.
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
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TazManiac
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by TazManiac » Sat Aug 08, 2015 1:29 am

Hah hah, the Thick-one plots...

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Sgt. Howard
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Sgt. Howard » Mon Aug 10, 2015 7:32 am

TazManiac wrote:Hah hah, the Thick-one plots...
As I once stated when I pour wet concrete into the grave.... the plot thickens...
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.

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Just Old Al
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Just Old Al » Mon Aug 10, 2015 11:10 am

Sgt. Howard wrote:
TazManiac wrote:Hah hah, the Thick-one plots...
As I once stated when I pour wet concrete into the grave.... the plot thickens...
A far too concrete example for my tastes....though it's one way to cement a friendship.

{deposits 2 bags of Sakrete into the pun jar}
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."

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Sgt. Howard
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Sgt. Howard » Mon Aug 10, 2015 11:58 am

THAT's a little HARD to top... (deposits a rusty trowel and bent floater into the pun vault)
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.

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TazManiac
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by TazManiac » Mon Aug 10, 2015 1:53 pm

I like the way this is forming up, its beginning to set into something concrete...

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Sgt. Howard
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Sgt. Howard » Mon Aug 10, 2015 2:08 pm

Tina had managed to scald herself three times the next morning- she had also mis-called several coffee orders, smashed a prune danish with her elbow and tripped over her own feet. Becky had to help her get supplies from downstairs as Tina had difficulty staying upright while descending. At one point that morning she walked right into a support pillar of the building. There was much speculation among her regulars as to what could be the malfunction.
Al had shown up about mid-morning to get his usual and remonstrate with her about harassing Stanley ... only to note her state of disarray. At first he suspected something was wrong when she addressed him by another name... then this was confirmed when she served him a cappuccino sweetened with sorghum (and yes, it tastes as ghastly as it sounds).
"Tina my dear- whatever is wrong? You're certainly not up to your usual standard today... is there trouble at home?"
"Oh, no- I just can't seem to... to think. I'm losing track all the time, I'm... I feel like I'm lost... oh, Al, I'm so sorry about your coffee, THAT's not what you want... oh, Al... I don't know what's wrong... "
Al noted that she was on the verge of tears... he did a quick recalibration of the situation, remembering that youngish lad with the Sunbeam-
"Did Stanley offer you a ride home yesterday?"
Tina looked off to the corner of the shop, "Yes,"
"Did you take him up on it?"
She silently nodded, still looking at the corner.
"Was he less than a gentleman about it?" he asked, fearing the answer.
She stood silent for a time before stating, "He was a perfect gentleman... "
Internally, Al breathed a sigh of relief... then realised that he had never heard Tina discuss a boyfriend.
"Tina... and forgive me for being so intrusive... but, how long has it been since you have been dating?"
Tina's eyes locked on his- the fear was quite evident- in a small voice she said, "I don't know,"
"Oh dear," he muttered, "... well, I can only assume he made quite the impression with you?"
She silently nodded while holding her lower lip with her teeth.
"Tina, I daresay I am probably not the one to consult in this matter... but if you have a ladyfriend that you are close to and trust, THAT is who you ought to seek advice from right now. I can only say this about the fellow- he seemed honorable enough... I daresay a bit miffed about you calling his Sunbeam a 'Trollop', or words to that effect (she snickered at this)... but beyond that I feel perfectly inadequate to advise you,"
She drew a deep sigh, then immediatly thought of two people- Monica and Phix.

The symposium on middle school issues was nearly as boring to Stan as he had envisioned- how to hold the attention of an over-crowded classroom filled with forty or more adolescents going through various stages of puberty- short of gun-play or nudity, it basically can't be done was the main consensus. An attention span measured in nanoseconds seemed to be the prime culprit. More than a few disparaged of ever entering the trade.
Stan himself was distracted... not a good thing, as his district had coughed up the money for him to go to this bore-fest... he was expected to benefit from it. Most of the lectures left him wanting to learn how to drive truck. The lunch provided was in line with the first lady's school lunch program- adequate for Ethiopia, perhaps. He slipped outside to scout up something more calorie ridden once he saw the fare offered and was surprised to recognize how close he was to a certain coffee house, the one where his distraction was working. There was a few moments of steeling himself for the encounter- then he set out for Mucho Mocha...
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.

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Sgt. Howard
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Sgt. Howard » Mon Aug 10, 2015 2:44 pm

As he walked to the coffeteria, Stanley found himself wondering why he was doing so- after all, there were other eateries in the area... and most of the foodstuffs at Mucho Mocha was pure sugar content. Besides, it's not like Tina really showed interest in him... or did she? Her odd reaction, that sudden ditch behind the door at their parting- she seemed fearful. Of him?

Of herself?

Stan didn't know.

On arrival, he was quite surprised to see the doors shut and shades drawn with a 'Closed' sign hanging in the window. No explanation. Middle of the day, should be peak buisness time and the doors are shut... that made no sense. He walked up to the sign that indicated hours of buisness and noted that it should be open at that time. He was about to walk back to the symposium, when he noted two things- for one, the door was slightly ajar. For another, there was somebody crying inside,

somebody who sounded like Tina.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside- he was immediatly aware of three pair of eyes looking directly at him. One pair, rather moist, belonged to Tina. Another pair, quite wide open, belonged to a short, busty latina.
The third pair, fully feral, belonged to a creature that had the hindquarters of a lion, the wings of an eagle, a long tail with sharp spikes and a human female torso. Nursing at this creature's breast was a cub of her own kind.
"WE'RE CLOSED!!!" snarled the beast as she held her young, "AND YOU WILL NOT TELL ANYONE WHAT YOU SAW HERE!!!"
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.

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GlytchMeister
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by GlytchMeister » Mon Aug 10, 2015 6:59 pm

Woopsies. Phix shoulda looked through a window or a peephole or something. :?
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!

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jwhouk
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by jwhouk » Mon Aug 10, 2015 8:24 pm

They got called to the shop so quick, she didn't get a chance to do a full change.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin

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Just Old Al
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by Just Old Al » Mon Aug 10, 2015 8:31 pm

I wonder how long it's going to take Stan to find a change of shorts?
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."

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TazManiac
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Re: It happened at Mucho Mocha

Post by TazManiac » Mon Aug 10, 2015 8:56 pm

This is no time to soil one's shorts.

It's Fight or Flee time battling it out w/ the Higher Functions and the Imaginationing Factory to contend with...

And there is the "What are you two doing to Tina!" reaction.

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