Almost every day now, I think about Mad Coyote Jim.
When I was 20, a long ass fucking time ago, I worked in a coffee shop in Cave Creek, Arizona.
Cave Creek was a town that was a combination of “Wild West” characters and McMansion snobs.
And we had our share of characters (and snobs) come into the coffeeshop.
There were rich people from Chicago who’d moved out of the cold, bought cowboy hats, and were trying to blend in.
There were actual oldschool Cave Creekers, who owned horses and lived (very well) off of doing ironwork for said rich Chicagoans.
There were bikers who’d come in packing revolvers, order light cappuccinos and ride off on their 50 thousand dollar Harleys.
And then, there was Mad Coyote Jim.
Who knew the Wild West was so full of snobs?
Jim was a rather large fellow who had a show on local TV.
On Saturday mornings when I was a teenager, my dad and I would watch his show. It was about barbecue.
This was around the year 2000, when the internet barely existed, and seeing – in the flesh – a guy who made BBQ ribs on the local FOX affiliate was the closest thing you could get to fame… unless you moved to LA.
Anyway, as I was saying.
I think about Mad Coyote Jim almost every day now.
Because when I was a teenager I’d watch him on TV. And when I was 20, as a barista, I was serving him coffee.
In fact – and this is the point of this article – one day he yelled at me for putting my fingers on the rim of his paper cappuccino cup.
I was making 7 bucks an hour plus tips – tips being significantly better if I was on the same shift as one of the attractive female employees – and he was a local celebrity.
So when he yelled at me for touching his cappuccino wrong, I just took it.
“You’re also touching your face while you’re doing this”, he said. “You touch your face, and then you put the top on my cappuccino. With your dirty face-touching hands.”
After he left, my cute female coworker said, “Don’t worry about it. He’s on local TV and now he’s a total diva!”
In any case, I don’t mean to speak badly about the customers of this particular coffee shop.
Most of them were great.
There was one old white-haired metalworking cowboy who insisted on having me make his cappuccinos. According to him, I made the best cappuccino in town.
At age 20, that was my first and only professional accomplishment.
I was a college dropout and didn’t have much going on.
That old cowboy’s endorsement, back then, was some of the highest praise I’d received in years.
And now — and I promise I’m at least trying to make a point here — I think about Mad Coyote Jim every day.
Because we’re 5 months into the Coronavirus panic here in Spain, and every time I go to get coffee, I’ve got some 20-year-old pulling my espresso – wearing latex gloves, because the virus… and scratching their eyeballs before handing me my paper cup.
I drink black coffee with no sugar, because I’m not nearly as tough as those light cappuccino cowboys and skinny latte bikers back home.
But still. Every time it happens, I think to myself, “Dude, let it go. Don’t be a douche. Don’t be this person’s Mad Coyote Jim.”
And I go off, and drink my coffee, and don’t act like some whiny fucking diva with a barbecue show on the local FOX affiliate.
The espresso’s great. And as far as I know, I still haven’t contracted any of the major coffeeborne illnesses.
Anyway – and finally getting to the point here – I just googled around a bit. Mad Coyote Jim (not exactly his pseudonym, but close) doesn’t appear to have a TV career anymore.
But he does have 38 subscribers on YouTube.
Not to brag, but I have more than 95,000.
I’ve got a global reach over 11 different platforms that would make his local Cave-Creek-Arizona-celebrity ass weep to know about.
Parting Wisdom from a Marketing Genius (not me)
One of my main marketing gurus, Joe Polish, says “Be nice to the people you meet on the way up. They’re the same people you’ll meet on the way back down.”
Well, I’m sorry, Mad Coyote Jim.
I’m sorry I put my fingers on the rim of your paper cup that one time, back when I was 20.
And I hope you’re doing well, whatever it is you’re doing these days.
Thanks for the barbecue recipes. The ribs weren’t bad.
Your eternal fan,
Mr Chorizo. (AKA a very small time online celebrity named Mr Daniel.)
P.S. I had other bad jobs when I was younger. Maybe one day I’ll write about the life of a bagboy at a gourmet supermarket. Or maybe not. Anyway, have you ever had a brush with the douchy side of fame? Let me know, right here in the comments. Have fun!
P.P.S. I’ve definitely got a full article about life in Arizona. It’s called Back on the Ranch, and you could say it’s Mr Chorizo’s superhero origin story. Sort of like Joker, but with no makeup and no rioting. Or, you know, Iron Man with no sex or money. Superman with no cornfield. Something like that, anyway.