An essay on angst and modren living.
I had to get out of the house early to get my work done and I decided to go get a bit of coffee this morning. There is a Starbuck’s on the way to work and so I thought I would stop there. They have been remodeling for the past week, why I don’t know. Probably because they have to conform to the new post hipster look that the place MUST have. Probably no more bands you never heard of with their angsty music posters. You’know. Sad hipster is all coffee’d up on fair trade 100% organic phalate free gluten free smoke free iPhone friendly coffee (with a double shot of sugar free fair trade vanilla syrup made of 100% HFCS free base, please). N’kay. I just want a cup of coffee of any political persuasion and I know that this Starbuck’s is open and where it is. And I have money, OK I don’t have money I have an app which allows me to pay for my coffee at Starbucks after going through 13 steps so that I can swipe my phone and get my coffee and the barista with say,”Oh, that is soooo kewl. Do you want your receipt? A-oh nah0oh! Yew have the app so you don’t need the receipt. Haw kewl is that? Y’know.”
Then I can say,”Urnk, grunt, whatever.” And walk out like I am far too kewl to be impressed with something as old hat as wireless coffeepay.
If I was paying for it I would just pull out the money and get my change and be done with it but, I am just as much of a sucker as the barista so…what can I say?
I live in Cincinnati, a place which is usually not the first to embrace anything new. A cancer cure? Not so fast. Wireless communication? Well, that might not be such a good idea. You get the picture. Go slow.
So this wild eyed embrace of Starbuck’s app is a shock to me, really. I am somewhat repelled by it all as I am used to the “other” Starbucks in that quintessentially Cincinnati institution of Kroger where the good ladies are NOT at all hipsters and look at you like you are nuts for even asking about the app thing (App thing? What’s that?). They look like they should be working in a bakery. These Hipster Store baristas are the ones who congregate on the sidewalk just outside the door and sa-moke cigarettes and discuss Ginsberg and Baudelaire earnestly between shifts and breaks. “Che, Che was right…we are just all pawns of the pwnd, man.”
I avoid that knot of earnestness. I pretend I can’t see them. I am not alone.
I also pretend I can’t see those damned cake pops sitting so perkily in the case. One of those bastards has 200 calories in it! 200 CALORIES!!! That is a whopping great dose of calories, bub. Sheesh. And they are expensive, too.
“Vente Pike Place, room for cream.” That’s invariably my order. The barista scowls. I have seen the best butts of my generation ruined by cake pops, kid. Gimme my caw-fee.
That Starbucks was robbed earlier this year. Someone with A SHOTGUN came in and demanded their money. I think they should have insisted he take a boatload of cake pops too, that would serve him right. Here, have 45,000 calories, too, sport.
Anyway, in the middle of the renovation there were two baristas sitting in the window of the store eating (a bunch of cake pops I guess) and staring out the window. I didn’t see that they were employees and walked up to the door where they had affixed a tiny sign saying that the renovation was not over yet and they were not open for business. Oh. I looked up and they were highly amused that anyone would want to enter and get coffee. Phfffft. OK.
Today I guess was their grand opening. I rolled down the hill and was going to go in and stopped abruptly because it was beyond jammed. People were waiting for parking spaces to open up. Mercedes Benz SUV was right on my tail almost boxing me in. It was white and the blonde driver was miffed as I backed up into the 3.5″ of space between my rear and her front bumper so I could nose my way into traffic and escape the jammed up Hipster Starbuck’s parking lot.
There were also masses of lost souls from the Hot Yoga center which had sprung up across the road. That is where the real hard core hangs out. Blissed out. They have sweat themselves silly and tied themselves into knots and done that for 75 minutes to go get a complex and guilt free coffee drink and a cake pop (which they have no idea is 200 CALORIES).
Hot Yoga is where all of the really swell matrons hang out in Cincinnati. It’s the in thing and you must do it. I am kidding no one here, I just bought an intro pass for myself and my step daughter and we are going to work out there, too. So, I get to act like a devotee and then go get lunch with her at the Holier than Oats Cafe next door and dine on groats and wheatgrass (whole grain) tacos with fair trade organic hot sauce and dairy free cheese sprinkles served in a bowl.
Naw, I’m not a hipster. Nope. Not me, I’m too kewl for that.
So, n’kay I will just go to the other Starbucks in the dying shopping mall for my coffee fix. I roll down the street and roll much to fast in traffic. It’s like a country road and you really have to watch yourself because you can get hit by some anxious panxious soul going 89 mph.
So, I get into the mall and avoid a Smart Car which is rolling aimlessly around like the driver is out cold and the hand brake is off (it isn’t but it could have been). I get to the Starbucks and it starts to pour down rain. Wow, you think it’s the end of the world? Do you?
I gets out. I am prepared with my raincoat and hood pulled up and waterproof purse and only to find a tiny sign stuck on the door “No Power. Sorry.”
^&$^&(!!!!!! Why didn’t Starbuck’s fix that? So? We just had a huge storm last night and so what? ARGHHHH!
So, I ended up going to work and fixing myself some coffee. It tastes good and it wasn’t that hard. Getting coffee at a local Starbucks is hard.