What happens in starbucks...

[troubled sleep]

((A year ago, I went to starbucks after trig class and had a series of bizarre things happen to me. I then trotted home with every intention of writing it up, but then it got a bit long and I had homework to do, so I stopped midway and filed the whole thing away in a word document. Which I found. Today. So I finished it.))

 

)-(

 

Digging for my sunglasses is always a production. I have a very large bag. Bottomless pit is the most apt description. I've never been a huge designer handbag fan just because there isn't enough room in them for anything. Sunglasses are small, and somehow they always manage to sink to the bottom, coming to rest on a ledge just before the purse drops off into nothingness. So I'm standing outside of my trig class in the open air hallway of our Huge Classroom Building(aren't we creative here at florida state??), sifting through the contents of my purse and finding everything but my sunglasses. This includes, but is not limited to, a bottle of water, a luna bar, three notebooks, a calculator, my wallet, both sets of keys, and a letter from the Florida Legislature informing me that since my purse has grown so large, I'm going to have to start paying property taxes on it. However, after standing around like an idiot buried up to my arm in purse, I finally feel my fingers clasp around my little black plastic sunglasses. It was around this same time that the sky--previously filled with an overabundance of sunshine and blue skies--decided that it was cold and gathered some nice fluffy rain clouds around for warmth. Rain clouds, as you may know, are ridiculously social beings who insist on hugging and chatting upon meeting, but who can deal out some serious lightening if need be. Sometimes I think maybe rain clouds are from Georgia. And so, just as I'm pulling my sunglasses out of my purse, the rain clouds' first "omg!it's so good to see you again!" of thunder boomed across the sky, rendering my sunglasses obsolete. Sighing, I let them careen back down into the bottomless pit and brace myself for raindrops.

 

And so we learn that down here in Florida, the weather can change at the drop of a pair of sunglasses.

 

However, this is not my story; not really. Because not two seconds later I found myself--quite outside my own power--being drawn into starbucks. This was partially because I needed to position all electronic items (and I carry a lot) into more secure, waterproof sections of my bottomless pit, and partially because I haven't slept for more than an hour or two in several days. But mostly it was because someone had just walked by me with a starbucks cup and I am an American and therefore am ridiculously susceptible to suggestions to buy things.

 

So I run across the red-brick-road (I think it has some official name, like the Multicutural-Alum-Who-Donated-A-Lot-Of-Money-Memorial-Pathway-Of-Awesomeness or something, but I like red-brick-road better) to starbucks just as the rain is really starting to pick up. Amazingly, there is no line. There is never a line at this starbucks. I am convinced that this is a magical starbucks, but that's another story. So I get in and stare at the menu. Really, I'm not in the mood for anything fancy. All I want is coffee. That's it.

 

It occurs to me at this moment that I've never actually just ordered coffee at a starbucks before. Ever since that fateful day when I first stepped into a starbucks with my then-BFF Lisa Shean at the tender age of 14, I've always ordered some exotic weird blended…thingie. Today, however, I am in no mood for frills. Today, I just want some coffee. And I have no idea how to ask for it.

 

And so I panic. Because that's kind of how I roll. I stand there in the doorway, mind blank, not sure what to do. It seems like there's a big, blinking neon sign that says, "coffee ordering novice! Point and laugh!" hanging above me. I'm not sure why this would bother me, or why it would be a big deal…but when you're in starbucks--especially a magical starbucks like this one--priorities change. You find yourself spending large quantities of money on exotic blended teas and cute little mugs with the starbucks logo on them. You buy big machines shiny with stainless steel that, while you're not sure what they do, certainly look magnificent on your kitchen counter and make a great deal of rather splendid noises. Until the thing explodes because you've let the pressure build up too much and you're left with a five-foot hole in your ceiling. The world outside and whether anything you're doing makes sense really have no bearing in starbucks. Like Vegas, what happens in Starbucks, stays in Starbucks. If starbucks had a slot machine and an Elvis marriage chapel, Vegas would be out of business faster than a shot of espresso enters the bloodstream.

 

But eventually I pull myself together. Casually, I walk up to the counter, studying the menu. I figure that if I can just give myself enough time walking up to the counter, I can figure out what to say. However, it doesn't take that long to transverse the six feet to the counter, no matter how slowly you walk, and in mere seconds I'm standing next to the register, still looking blankly at the menu.

 

"What can I get for you. Ma'am? Ma'am?"

 

I transfer my blank stare from the menu above to the girl's face below and mumble something like, "um….yeah…"

 

Starbucks-girl favors me with an expression that says, "look, sweetie, I've been here since 6, I haven't had a break, I haven't eaten since 5, please just order something so that you can get on with your life and I can get on with mine otherwise I might just have to kill you."

 

"I want some coffee," I finally manage.

 

"Coffee?" she replies, incredulous.

 

"Yes. Coffee." I say, more firmly this time.

 

She sighs in the back of her throat, a slightly strangled noise.

 

"What size?"

 

"Umm…" I glance at the coffee sizes next to me, "Venti." I usually never get anything above a tall, however, I've got a gift card, I might as well go all out.

 

"What kind of coffee?"

 

"Um…"

 

"Mild? Bold? Decaf? Regular? Semi-Caf? Arabian bold? African semi-bold, partly-mild? Lithuanian surprise?"

 

She continued listing coffee varieties, but I felt myself glazing. My brows climb up into frightened little V's as I try to follow all the types of coffee and I'm certain that I resemble a dear in the headlights.

 

"Umm…pick one?" I said after a moment, no longer sure of what was going on.

 

"Yes," starbucks-girl says, taking a deep breath and steadying her hand on the counter, "pick one. Which do you want?"

 

"Whichever, I don't care. Ummm…bold?"

 

"Pike Place Bold or Arabian Bold?"

 

"Uhhh…The first one."

 

"Hot or iced?"

 

"Hot…?"

 

"Room for cream?"

 

I'm starting to feel vaguely like I'm being interrogated, but manage to choke out an emphatic "yes!" Quite inexplicably, the girl ordering coffee next to me says brightly, "Good choice!" I look over at her, unsure if she's talking to me or not. See, at FSU, strangers don't really talk to each other. Friends don't even really talk to each other. It's just one of our traditions and we're proud of it. So I was really quite surprised when this girl in a flouncy, blue paisley shirt spoke to me.

 

"I cream and sugar the daylights out of my coffee," I mumble in her general direction--what else could I say? How does one respond to someone actually talking to them??

 

"Oh, me too, me too." Paisley shirt says, before wandering away to the condiment bar to do just that.

 

Meanwhile, starbucks-girl has shoved a large cup of coffee for which I meekly thanked her. Now it's her turn to look confused--I doubt anyone had said that all day. People don't really say thank you at FSU, either. It's another time honored tradition. I keep forgetting--I guess I'll never be a true 'nole.

 

So mulling on my failures as a Florida State Seminole, I'm over cream and sugaring the crap out of my coffee. This takes a really long time, especially when one has randomly selected the "bold venti" coffee and in that time someone else comes up from behind to stand with me and blue paisley-girl. You know how some people seem to carry a cloud of angry around with them? This chick stomps over with an entire hurricane's worth. The first thing she does is tip some of her coffee into the trash can.

 

"I can't believe this," she says, flipping off the top off her coffee and glaring at it. "What the...? You call that room for cream?" She tips more of it into the trash. Paisley girl clucks disapprovingly at Angry Chick.

 

"Well," Paisley says, "They forgot to put the vanilla flavoring in mine, but you don’t see me complaining, do you? Gosh, cut them some slack." With this she flounces off in a cloud of paisley ruffles, leaving me stranded with Angry Chick.

 

"B****." Angry chick growls, reaching for the other bottle of half-and-half.

 

I make some kind of, "Ach! Omg!" noise in response to her cursing at a complete stranger, to which Angry Chick replies:

 

"Well, she's lucky I didn't say it to her face. I don't get it, why do people always have to get in everyone else's business? I hate it. This is why I never go out in public."

 

I briefly toy with the idea of mentioning that it was Angry Chick who had put herself out there by talking in the first place, but eventually decide against it. I don't want to die today. Instead, I shrug, reach for a packet of sugar and say, "Well, I just don't ask questions."

 

"Yeah, I guess. But, like, I've got, like, three exams tomorrow and I'm not prepared at all and I've been studying all week and I totally don't have time for some nobody to be all up in my face, judging me."

 

Again, what does one say to this? We don't talk to each other at FSU, and now suddenly not one, but two people keep talking to me!

 

"I have three exams tomorrow, too." I say, for lack of any better reply.

 

"Yeah? Sucks doesn't it?"

 

"Mmmhmm," I nod emphatically, "definitely."

 

Angry then chick takes a long, long drag of her coffee, closes her eyes and--much to my astonishment--smiles. Her cloud of angry suddenly evaporates and her entire countenance seems to change--it's kind of like that scene at the end of Disney's beauty and the beast when the beast gets transformed back into a not-quite-ugly Frenchman: light shining out all over everything. But the smile remains, and when she opens her eyes again, they're shining, too.

 

I, meanwhile, am stopped midway through dumping a pack of sugar into my coffee, mouth hanging wide open at the transformation.

 

"Well," she says, popping the lid back onto her cup, "it was nice meeting you, have a super awesome day and good luck on your exams!!"

 

I nod mutely and she skips--skips!--away.

 

And that, mes p'tites, is my real story: how coffee, against all odds, can sooth the savage college student.

 

(I told you it was a magic starbucks.)

Edited August 4, 2009 by troubled sleep

[Disco-neck Ted]

When you write your first book, let me know so I can buy it.

 

 

 

 

 

In hardback.