I am always amazed by the behavior of people who walk in off the street a few minutes before closing time. There are a million reasons to visit a Starbucks. The devotees, like me, have built a curious religion around the stuff, while to others, the green mermaid represents everything that's wrong with America - $4 lattes being a cancer on the caffeinated soul of our very being.
The fine folk who saunter into a Starbucks 38 minutes before closing time can fall into one of a very few categories. They're either bored and looking for something to kill time, desperate for a caffeine/sugar fix, peripatetic & itinerant writers and carefree artist types like me who gadfly from place to place watching the action (although we're really just bored AND looking for a caffeine fix) and finally, the totally freaking clueless.
Tonight's visitor falls into that last category. We'll call her Clueless Connie and she's one of my FAVORITE *insert sarcasm here* types of Starbucks visitors in the whole, wide, green-apron-wearing world!
Clueless Connie rolls in. I know this because there are only the two equally clueless baristas with approximately six brain cells between them, me and some old dude with a computer and cell phone running some Web business over in the corner in the place.
Clueless Connie is dressed in some truly heinous clothing. She's trying to work some odd combination ballet flat and strappy sandal that might look good if her feet weren't so big. Or veiny. Over a pair of dark blue tights, there's a light blue tunic and a demure white cardigan. The effect of which is ruined because there is a visible underwear line. The hair is an off reddish brown, styled like Sally Field in "Steel Magnolias." In the immortal words of Julia Roberts - "You just tease it and make it look like a brown football helmet." Girlfriend could walk onto most NFL teams. Those hips mean business!
Clueless Connie has obviously never been in this Starbucks before. She's not a caffeine junkie because she stops to browse the merchandise on her way to the register. In fact, Brainless Blonde Barista and Brainless Brunette Barista don't even notice she's here.
In fact, I severely doubt if Clueless Connie has EVER been in ANY Starbucks ANYWHERE.
Clueless Connie is fingering a $300 espresso machine and $15 coffee mugs. Because we all make those kind of purchases at 9:30 p.m. on a Wednesday night in a Starbucks on a dead corner in a dead tourist town that rolled up the sidewalks three hours ago when the old people put their teeth in the glass on the nightstand to soak.
Clueless Connie moves on to the pounds of coffee beans. Clueless Connie reads the labels. Maybe Clueless Connie is a coffee connoisseur. Maybe Clueless Connie is crazy. Maybe I'm in love with the letter "C." Because "C" is for COOKIE! That's good enough for MEEEEEEEE!
"C" what I did there? I did not get enough caffeine or food today - and the combined sugar rush coupled with lack of food is making me loopy. Never drink an iced venti mocha on an empty stomach. The top of your head will get that floaty feeling.
Clueless Connie moves over to the clearance table. Clueless Connie is NOT YET at the register - and the baristas are arguing about the benefits of hyperventilating. Seriously. This is some scintillating conversation.
Curiously, Clueless Connie skips the pastry case and steps up to the register. I guess she has some strange misguided expectations of service from the pair of Brainless Baristas running the joint tonight - who continue to talk about how to save the Amazon rainforest through better use of hair gel and how to properly adjust your glitterthong. Meanwhile Clueless Connie waits. And waits.
And waits.
Finally, Clueless Connie coughs. Not really, she just said "Excuse me." The alliteration was better for my tale though. I can understand why they let her wait though - because she browsed everything in the store before hitting the register; one barista was mopping and the other was cleaning over by the sink. Neither was paying much attention to her because for the previous six minutes she hadn't been anywhere near interested in actually ordering a drink WHILE they were standing in front of the register.
Finally, Brainless Barista: Blonde Edition speaks up and greets her.
CLUELESS CONNIE: "What's Pike's Place"
BRAINLESS BARISTA BLONDE: "Pike's Place is the Starbucks Signature coffee."
CLUELESS CONNIE: "Don't you just have REGULAR COFFEE?" That is my all-time favorite Starbucks question. Like, what do you think it is? That the beans are some Kopi Luwak special or something? Yeah lady. They're gonna whip out some Maxwell House just for you and let you pay a nickel for it. Naw, girlfriend. That cup of tall coffee is $1.50, like it, lump it, leave it. That's "regular coffee" at the Green Apron special.
BRAINLESS BARISTA BLONDE: "Uhhhhhhh. That's what's brewing right now. Uhhhhhh." The terror behind those blank eyes. Even from across the room. Coffee drones. I should feel pity. I really don't. He's the one screwed up my drink because he was yammering about how he goes up to people and tells them "You're just totally unhealthy."
CLUELESS CONNIE: "Is Pike's Place your regular coffee?" And it is clear from the way she says it that she thinks she's demeaning herself to even say the words "Pike's Place." She could care less that Starbucks started out on a pier in Seattle and that Pike's Place is celebrating the company's 38th anniversary. Girlfriend wants some Folgers in her cup, STAT!
BRAINLESS BARISTA BLONDE: "Y-y-yesssss?"
CLUELESS CONNIE: "Then can I get a medium coffee?" And of course she pays with a twenty. I see the wad of bills.
The brainless blonde barista pours her a coffee and rings her out.
Clueless Connie goes over to the condiment bar. And immediately comes back because it is 9:30 p.m. and there is no milk. Was she expecting a cow?
Clueless Connie then takes the opportunity to browse the ONE part of the store she somehow magically skipped on her journey through the magical land of Starbucks merchandise - the pastry case. Which, at this point, has been wrapped and tagged by the Brainless Brunette Barista.
Clueless Connie starts staring at the chocolate chip cookies. Like the whole world will end if she doesn't put another joule of calorie into the thunder thighs. She's looking hungry. Imagine a brontosaurus (Yes, I know. No. I don't care.) staring down the last green palm frond of the Jurassic before the meteors hit. That's the look. Now. Imagine the barista giving her one back that says "Lady, if you make me unwrap these pastries and and re-count them and fill out this report again I will literally freak out. Fat girls on pastry won't have nothing on this skinny heifer whooping you.
Clueless Connie decides that discretion is the better part of valor and exits the field, her sugar rush unfulfilled and her underwear still showing.
Goodbye Clueless Connie. Long may you browse.
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