For now, I leave you with something I wrote many years ago. Tucked
away in a random book, I found this quarter sheet of paper with tiny handwriting,
front and back, describing one of my many trips to Starbucks. I loved going to
coffee shops in college to do homework, but more times than not I was way too
distracted to get anything done.
Why did I think I
could concentrate? There is no possible way my silent reading could compete
with the shouts of mixed late flavors, random gossip, and business phone calls.
The business man has his laptop opened and papers everywhere. He keeps getting
up from his table to take calls from "broker liaisons" and other
important figures. He's selling something. Insurance maybe? Now he's arguing
with a buddy from the office. His tone is no longer professional. The elderly
couple that just sat beside me is debating how many pills were taken in the
morning, and analyzing the effectiveness of reading glasses. Their laughter
about medicine is drowned out by the two middle-aged women using their hands to
describe the length of time they have been married. "Well, after about 10
years of marriage..." one continues. I wonder if she will ever put her
hands down and sip the coffee she spent a fortune on. At the table just beyond
her is a man in a clean mint-green dress shirt and khakis. He also has his
laptop opened, but hasn't moved in a while and may have dozed off. The first business
man just threw away his tiny little coffee cup. Espresso. I knew it. His shoes
do not match his pants. He's taking out his car keys and shutting down his
computer. I bet he drives a Lexis. The color of these walls are bland but
modern and the photos of coffee on the walls scare me. This chair I'm sitting
on is uncomfortable and the table is wobbly. The staff here is overly nice.
Must be the smell of coffee. When I ordered, the gentleman asked for my name and
then said to his coworker, "How 'bout we get Liz a Grande toffee-nut
late?" As if to say, "Honey, will you please pour a spot of tea for
our guest?" I don't like that. I'm not their guest, I don't even know
them! Someone just ordered something like a Venti, sugar-free, non-fat, vanilla
soy, double shot, decaf, no foam, extra hot, mocha. I laughed out loud when the
barista correctly repeated it. Is that the problem with America? You can get
exactly what you want? That’s a question for another day, because now I must
read.
I immediately thought of my awesome brother Chris when I found
this. As an avid fan of quality beverages, and quite the talented barista, I’d
like to think this post will make him smile.
Xoxo Liz
