I really enjoy “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee.” With each season the number of interesting guests does not align with the number of comedians entering the field and before you know it, the balloon animal artist and yourself are sharing a mug of something. I’m not a comedian. I tell one pirate joke too frequently and I rest on my laurels, rarely on my Hardy’s. See what I mean? Not a comedian.
In the truest form of selflessness, I am offering my services as a guest for next season. I would never dream of bumping anyone from their rightful spot in season three. No use to waste the film.
However, as anyone who thinks higher of themselves than their current socioeconomic status justifies, I have a few demands that must be agreed upon before we find a spot for me in season four. And just to show you I’m not all ego, it’s perfectly okay for me to be episode two or three of that season. Others need that first slot more than I do. Also, you want to pick me up in a Saturn or an Edsel, go ahead. I’m not one for vanity in automobiles. Gorilla Glue and duct tape currently hold up the plastic molding above the window on the passenger side of my vehicle.
Anyways, just a few conditions, you know, to avoid hold up in any negotiations:
I need something to eat
I’ll pop for the food. Don’t take that out of the show’s budget. The day-out can’t be just coffee. I enjoy coffee, but when it’s the only item I consume I get a little scatterbrained and hyperactive (not unlike this letter). So please, wherever we go, and it’s your call, there needs to be at least a fruit and yogurt parfait or some cinnamon toast on the menu. I’ll even have a little something before to curb my appetite. People who go out exclusively for coffee or tea seem to hover over their house blend and whisper. It’s as if the lack of food on the table does not allow them to speak in a louder voice, over-articulate with their hands, or pound the table with their fists if a claim warrants such pounding. I’ll need my full arsenal of communication skills at my disposal, so please, let’s have food.
I prefer booths
Tables don’t afford me the expanse of room I prefer in my sit-downs. I like the exclusivity a booth affords. Even a table against the wall feels like we’re part of the regular crowd, a booth means we’re elite. People see others in a booth (entirely my perception, based on nothing scientific) and their first thought it, “Wow those guys must be something really special. Who’d they slip an Abe to get into that spot?” Let’s get to that point of elite. Plus, people speaking in booths always appear to be having a much more profound conversation than others at a two-top. Maybe we spend fifteen minutes discussing the merits of Sweet’N Low and Sugar In The Raw, others, those at the tables, they don’t need to know that. You were always in a booth at Monk’s. It’ll be just like fictional old times.
No music in the restaurant
I struggle to carry on a conversation when in front of a laptop, there’s no way you’d get the full effect if Jim Croce came through the speakers of the café. Classical music would be best, instrumental okay, so long as it wasn’t instrumentals of well-known songs because then I’d get lost in attempts to figure out what song it was.
So there you have it. Three simple demands. Hopefully none of them are deal-breakers. And to make things easier for the crew and yourself, I’ll even dress inconspicuously in a zipped-down hoodie, blue jeans, dark-rimmed glasses, and a baseball cap. We don’t need to draw any untoward attention to ourselves. Also, I’ll be waiting for you at the gate so you don’t have to pay the meter and worry about the nuisance of permit parking.
The best of everything,
P.S. I normally have any requests go through my make-believe media relations department, but feel free to reach out to me directly.