Escudo… It’s a very popular blend, much coveted once it reaches some age. And, I packed a tin with five years on it into my pipe bag along with some already-in-the-rotation leaf as the wife and I headed up to the Mountains for the weekend. We always like to stay in these cabins between the city and my wife’s family, so we can bounce between the two. My wife had business with her family, and I wanted to make my way into town and enjoy my pipe and a cup of coffee while passing the time reading the paper. We would spend the remainder of the day walking about the little shops knickknacking. There’s a coffee shop down from the more popular pipe shop there that still allows you to smoke. I kind of hoped Mrs. Cosmic would take her time, so that I could really cover some news and find out what’s going on in the world. So, I grabbed a table, unpacked my pipe, tin of Escudo, and various other required pipe accoutrements, ordered a cup of coffee, just as an older gentleman walked up smoking his pipe. What a glorious morning this was in this beautiful mountain city, with mountains in all of the horizons, and clean air. I stood and invited him to my table to join me in a morning smoke. And, then I excused myself to go get a copy of the paper, thinking how great this was, to meet another pipesmoker, in such a strange and delightful place. The air smelled so good.
Wall Street Journal, the local fish wrapper, and some of the travel rags that lists attractions that I have no interest in seeing… but just because I know Mrs. Cosmic will want to peruse it latter, ha ha.
But, I walk up plopped my armload of papers down on the table, and I am astounded to see this guy loading his pipe from an Escudo tin.
I am not above sharing. Hell, I love to share. Sharing tobacco is almost as much pleasure for me as smoking it. I am a generous guy. But, the audacity of just opening my virgin tin of five year old Escudo and packing himself a pipe full of my aged fucking blackened fruity fucking coins of Virginias and perique; well… that’s different. My face flashed red, I am sure. And, looking at the tin… he must have loaded half of my tin into his ugly old glutinous beater billiard, or maybe he had shoved some of my coins into his nasty shirt pocket before I got back to the table, like a common shoplifter, filling his pocket while the clerk has his head turned.
But, I am a gentleman, (breathe) first and foremost, (breathe) and this is a fellow pipesmoker. Hell, we haven’t even introduced ourselves. Pipesmokers are rare, and two happening to meet in a strange city, well… Maybe he is from far off exotic land… of rudeness and vile, maybe it’s just his way, the way of his people, the shiteating, vile people of taking-someone-else’s-tobacco type people, violating the seal of their tin, the sphhisssh of five years of trapped vacuum, from the Isle of Dumbfuckery, a village of jackasses, maybe these people screw their sisters and worship feces… But, I am a gentleman. (Breath deeper) I just smile, nod, and make some offhand remark about how good Escudo is, “Yes, Escudo is one of my favorites, you see. I just love an aged tin of Escudo, No? As I can see that you must really enjoy it, no?” (Try to deny it you prick) His little shiteating moustache rises on both sides of his pipe into a shiteating smile as he lights his rude little glutinous pipe. He looks so pleased with himself, with smirky little beady eyes of joy… at puffing MY Escudo.
So, I probably sighed, and shifted in my seat, crossed my legs, uncrossed them. I realized that I was staring laser beams into his cold heartless eyes. So, I broke the connection. I’d had enough, I felt sick to my stomach, and I closed up the tin of Escudo, with a dramatic in-your-face twist to reseal the remaining few coins of Escudo, tossed it into my pipe bag, raked the rest of my pipe accessories into the pipe bag, and walked off. No use sharing a table with THIS type of heathen. Rare pipesmoker encounter or not…
But, I got no further than twenty paces, when I realized that I had stormed off without my newspapers. They are so hard to come by and expensive these days. I’m not letting that asshole have my newspapers as well. So, I composed myself, took in the deepest breath ever, turned about, and snagged the papers off the table… revealing my unopened tin of aged five year old Escudo setting with its virgin seal on the table… under my papers.
Yes, well… well… ummmm… yes… ha ha… (feeling a little dizzy) “ahhh, as you can see… Ooop, uh, here’s your tin of Escudo back, ha ha. I uh… yeh”… He just kept his judgmental gaze on me quietly smoking. I just bowed a little said, “Pardon me.” I picked up my tin, dropping his back on the table, with a familiar taste of blackbird crawling from the back of my throat.
I then hiked over to the other side of the building where a worker was dumping bags of fragrant garbage from the deli, and I asked if it would be ok if I just sat in the alley next to the dumpster and smoked. I just couldn’t stand to be around that asshole.
I texted Mrs. Cosmic, “What is taking you so long?”
Wall Street Journal, the local fish wrapper, and some of the travel rags that lists attractions that I have no interest in seeing… but just because I know Mrs. Cosmic will want to peruse it latter, ha ha.
But, I walk up plopped my armload of papers down on the table, and I am astounded to see this guy loading his pipe from an Escudo tin.
I am not above sharing. Hell, I love to share. Sharing tobacco is almost as much pleasure for me as smoking it. I am a generous guy. But, the audacity of just opening my virgin tin of five year old Escudo and packing himself a pipe full of my aged fucking blackened fruity fucking coins of Virginias and perique; well… that’s different. My face flashed red, I am sure. And, looking at the tin… he must have loaded half of my tin into his ugly old glutinous beater billiard, or maybe he had shoved some of my coins into his nasty shirt pocket before I got back to the table, like a common shoplifter, filling his pocket while the clerk has his head turned.
But, I am a gentleman, (breathe) first and foremost, (breathe) and this is a fellow pipesmoker. Hell, we haven’t even introduced ourselves. Pipesmokers are rare, and two happening to meet in a strange city, well… Maybe he is from far off exotic land… of rudeness and vile, maybe it’s just his way, the way of his people, the shiteating, vile people of taking-someone-else’s-tobacco type people, violating the seal of their tin, the sphhisssh of five years of trapped vacuum, from the Isle of Dumbfuckery, a village of jackasses, maybe these people screw their sisters and worship feces… But, I am a gentleman. (Breath deeper) I just smile, nod, and make some offhand remark about how good Escudo is, “Yes, Escudo is one of my favorites, you see. I just love an aged tin of Escudo, No? As I can see that you must really enjoy it, no?” (Try to deny it you prick) His little shiteating moustache rises on both sides of his pipe into a shiteating smile as he lights his rude little glutinous pipe. He looks so pleased with himself, with smirky little beady eyes of joy… at puffing MY Escudo.
So, I probably sighed, and shifted in my seat, crossed my legs, uncrossed them. I realized that I was staring laser beams into his cold heartless eyes. So, I broke the connection. I’d had enough, I felt sick to my stomach, and I closed up the tin of Escudo, with a dramatic in-your-face twist to reseal the remaining few coins of Escudo, tossed it into my pipe bag, raked the rest of my pipe accessories into the pipe bag, and walked off. No use sharing a table with THIS type of heathen. Rare pipesmoker encounter or not…
But, I got no further than twenty paces, when I realized that I had stormed off without my newspapers. They are so hard to come by and expensive these days. I’m not letting that asshole have my newspapers as well. So, I composed myself, took in the deepest breath ever, turned about, and snagged the papers off the table… revealing my unopened tin of aged five year old Escudo setting with its virgin seal on the table… under my papers.
Yes, well… well… ummmm… yes… ha ha… (feeling a little dizzy) “ahhh, as you can see… Ooop, uh, here’s your tin of Escudo back, ha ha. I uh… yeh”… He just kept his judgmental gaze on me quietly smoking. I just bowed a little said, “Pardon me.” I picked up my tin, dropping his back on the table, with a familiar taste of blackbird crawling from the back of my throat.
I then hiked over to the other side of the building where a worker was dumping bags of fragrant garbage from the deli, and I asked if it would be ok if I just sat in the alley next to the dumpster and smoked. I just couldn’t stand to be around that asshole.
I texted Mrs. Cosmic, “What is taking you so long?”
