The green, digital microwave clock blinks 6:59; the green digital microwave clock right beneath it blinks 7:00. I didn't care enough after the most recent power outage to completely synchronize the two down to the second. I'd half-assed it, which in many ways summarized my life.
I begrudgingly grab my black leather work bag, a low-carb protein shake from the fridge and an arm full of dress slacks and button-down Oxford shirts. I kiss my son of the forehead, who's beginning his day with a six-episode run of the 2002 'Masters of the Universe' reboot before choking down a gallon's worth of breast milk. I pause briefly as Skeletor threatens Teela with the destruction of Eternia, and think for a moment, "Didn't Frank Langella play Skeletor in the Dolph Lundgren live action version?" After five seconds and no answer I commit the question to memory in an effort to jog the mid-commute 'check IMDB on my cell phone' forty-five minutes later. Screw you, Oprah. When's the last time you've driven anywhere?
On my way through the utility room I fumble a red Van Husen shirt and a pair of Greg Norman khakis. I curse under my breath before bending down to reach for the lost articles. My ridiculously heavy work bag slips off of my shoulder and crashes to the floor. I curse under my breath, again, but this time I add a few extra hyphens to the tapestry of profanity.
I slam my work bag and armful of four-year old clothes into the trunk. At the same time I'm proud and ashamed of my wardrobe. Ashamed because I've spent approximately $5,000 on videogames since I've last spent a dime on dress attire (WWE t-shirts not included in this estimate), yet beaming since I could still cram my steadily expanding ass into an ancient pair of slacks I've owned since 2006.
With the household garbage can positioned at the right-hand corner of the driveway (it's got to be on the right hand side or it won't be picked-up; no kidding), I wheel out of the driveway toward my weekly cup of the world's finest premium blend.
Starbucks: You either love it or you hate it. It's became the catch-phrase, main stream embodiment of a Microsoft-like empire, ripe for an anti-trust declaration and socialization of assets. It was the coffee house that all of the enlightened hipsters went to before Starbucks 'sold out' and went mainstream, thus causing the beatnik-crowd to seek out Ma and Pa coffee shops that nobody goes to. Now that everyone over the age of 13 patronizes Starbucks regularly, it's a social cliche wrapped in a metaphor wrapped in fable. To me, it's a great cup of coffee; but with that great coffee comes a few thorns.
So this coffee Friday, the local Starbucks on Sawdust Road in Spring, Texas came to behold all that is good and bad about America's favorite coffee chain. The following is presented in first person narrative form.
The drive-thru line seemed to stretch longer than the cars stacked behind each other in, 'Field of Dreams.' Reluctantly I pulled into the log-jammed parking lot, which resembled I-45 at 5:30 P.M. on a Wednesday, and luckily found a spot on the edge of the parking lot. In the all-time history of parking lots, this spot would likely be considered in the bottom fifth. But at Starbucks on a Friday morning? Golden.
I turned of my ignition and watched as a hunter green Dodge Caravan pulled in next to me. A squatty, middle-aged woman looked at me behind Sally Jesse-Raphael eyeglass frames. We sized each other as we got out of our cars. I paced around the back of the minivan. You guess it: Soccer Mom. Three kids, 'Jaden', 'Baden' (WTF is Baden?) and 'Kayden,' were stuck to the tinted rear window of the pitiable family wagon. Jaden was number 9 and he played baseball. Baden was 11 and she was a cheerleader for the youth football league. And little Kayden? She was a Girl Scout, while another in the band of 'Adens' was on the elementary honor roll.
While I was wasting time pondering the 'Aden' epidemic (and the ridiculous amount of people just flat out making up names for their kids, Soccer Mom was in full power walk glory. Her flat, brown sandals were plodding against the concrete while the excess from her Zack Morris leather braided belt flapped wildly in the breeze. Soccer Mom beat me easily to the door and into the Starbucks. With Soccer Mom in front of me, I knew I was screwed (more on that later).
The interior sounded and looked a lot like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. There were an assortment of employees, running around crazily and shouting esoteric terms that mean absolutely nothing in English.
'Venti Half-Caf No-Whip Soy Mocha Latte with no Sprinkles!"
And of these employees, two looked like f*&$ing vampires (more on that later, too).
The line was longer than usual for a Friday, with a lot of faces I didn't recognize from past Friday runs. In a perfect world, with each of the folks in front of me getting coffee, I'd be out in less than five minutes. However, people don't order coffee at Starbucks. They order drinks.
For example, let's take Soccer Mom, who was standing in front of me. Now, by the looks of Soccer Mom, I put a Caramel Macchiatto on her, with the potential for extra whip. Now this on it's own wasn't too bad. Yes, the assortment of Lattes and Frappes at a Starbucks can potentially add an additional three minutes per customer worth of wait, but it's a calculated assumption when ordering at a Starbucks. However, Soccer Mom comes with some risk. For Soccer Mom it's Friday, and with the flock likely at baseball camp/Mother's Day Out/summer school, it could be scrapbooking day, or bridge (card game) day with all of the other Soccer Moms. You know what that means? Instead of one 'drink' that adds three minutes of wait time, there're six drinks that add 18 minutes to the wait time. You catch my drift?
The line slowly began to dwindle, and the 'barista' at the espresso machine asked Soccer Mom what she wanted. Right on cue, Soccer Mom rattled off five drinks, three of which were hot chocolate, however (meaning that the kids were likely still waiting in the car) and two lattes.
'Not too bad,' I thought. The barista then turned to me.
'What'll it be, bro?"
I wanted to scream out loud.
'All I want is a cup of F*&$ing coffee. Plain-ass black coffee.'
I didn't say that, though. I answered politely.
'Just coffee for me.' What a douche.
There were still two people in front of myself and Soccer Mom, so I took the free time to survey the 'dine-in' crowd at the Starbucks on Rayford Road. All of the old standbys were there. There were, "Morning-Meeting-At-Starbucks-Business Guys" at one table. 'Unemployed-But-Hanging-At-Starbucks-Because-My-Wife-Is-On-My-Ass Guy' lurked in the corner, cramming a bagel whilst wiping his hands on the want ads. Then there was my favorite, "Working-On-My-Manuscript-On-My-MacBook Pro-Guy." This guy is in every single Starbucks on the planet 24 hours a day. Not only is he so cool that he has to be seen working on his manuscript, but he also has the audacity to drink his coffee out of a mug instead of the provided to-go cups. MacBook Pro + Brought-From-Home Mug=complete, total doucher.
My turn in line was fast approaching, with only Soccer Mom's 1988 hair do absconding me from the endgame. The cashier was clad in black save for his green Starbucks apron. Two of his fingernails were painted black, and he wore dark eyeliner around both of his eyes. On the front of his apron were two buttons, "Team Edward", and "Team Jacob."
Now I think I've been pretty outspoken here in my criticism of 'Twilight' and everything it stands for, so I don't want to stray too far down that path. But it's alarming to me the number of young adults these days fancy themselves as actual, true-life vampires. Pale skin, eyeliner, dyed black hair...you all are single-handedly making vampires out to be total soppy douches.
More than one person has pointed out my Star Wars fandom as a counterpoint to my hatred of the Twilight epidemic. This point does have some validity. However, are there adults living their daily lives, or better yet working at a Starbucks dressed as Jar-Jar Binks or Ephant Mon? Didn't think so.
Just as I finished pondering Twilight and it's relative lameness, Soccer Mom grabbed her tray of drinks and did the PTA walk out of the building to meet her cast of 'Adens' Finally, it was my turn.
'What are you having?' asked one of the ranking members of Team Jacob/Edward.
'Large Coffee.'
'Just a coffee?'
'Yes. Just a coffee.'
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