Grass Valley, CA — Area asshole and recent evangelical Christian convert Don Vaca told a small crowd at Grass Valley’s Caroline’s Coffee they should be “grateful that this 112-degree weather is a dry heat.” His offhand comments came after one patron complained privately about the sun’s intensity in a South-facing window.
“Look, we could be in New Orleans or Georgia,” announced an overconfident Mr. Vaca, who has never been outside California. “At least we have this dry heat here in California. You’d be complaining in the South.”
Over the past week, the nation suffered one of the worst heat waves, with record temperatures reported coast to coast. While most locals found relief in air-conditioned spaces or by cooling off in the South Yuba River, Mr. Vaca seemed to revel in the discomfort, viewing it as an opportunity to showcase his misplaced geographical wisdom.
“I don’t know what y’all are upset about,” continued Mr. Vaca, speaking to the entire coffee shop in a fake Southern accent. “You don’t know anything about humidity, let me tell you. Of course, if you did, you’d wish for 112-degree California weather. But, you know, you can’t get cool with that humidity. Am I right or what?”
The comment drew a few awkward glances and murmurs of disbelief from the patrons. Regular customer Susan Thompson rolled her eyes, muttering to her friend about the audacity of someone who had never experienced true Southern humidity acting as an authority on the subject.
“This guy’s been here for five minutes and thinks he knows everything,” she whispered.
Meanwhile, barista Jenny Lopez continued to serve drinks, visibly unfazed by Mr. Vaca’s monologue.
“We get all types in here,” she said with a shrug. “Some people just like to hear themselves talk, I guess.”
Customers at Caroline’s largely ignored Mr. Vaca’s lecture, preferring to focus on their conversations, laptops, and the much-needed iced beverages in front of them. Despite his best efforts, Don Vaca’s attempt to enlighten the crowd fell flat, much like his attempt at a southern drawl.
Undeterred, Mr. Vaca took his iced Americano to a corner table and began to pontificate to anyone who would listen about the virtues of his recent conversion, the impending end times, and the undeniable superiority of dry heat. His audience, a beleaguered houseplant and a very unimpressed cat lounging by the window, seemed less than convinced.
As the afternoon wore on, the temperature outside climbed higher. Still, inside Caroline’s Coffee, the atmosphere remained cool, thanks in no small part to the general indifference towards Don Vaca’s unsolicited opinions. As one patron succinctly put it while stirring her iced latte, “It’s not the heat that bothers me, it’s the hot air.”
Ultimately, Don Vaca’s attempts to bond over the shared misery of the heat wave did little more than solidify his status as the local blowhard. As the sun began to set over Grass Valley, the patrons of Caroline’s Coffee carried on with their day, leaving Mr. Vaca to preach to the increasingly empty room.
