All's Fair in Love and Latte

Blessed Shiva knows that coffee shops are like a smörgåsbord for hipster hoochie-coochie. Probably up against the sink in the bathroom. Yet, the hipsters - and every one else - still keeps on coming. Pun totally not intended.


Anyway. I'm totally not inspired, so I'm browsing the Internet when something European walks in - and not the crazy-aggressive female tourists that earned the tweet earlier.

This is very male, very "fashionable," and very fey. FIGURE. IT. OUT. He has cute little khaki shorts with some sort of drawstrings on the bottom of the sides and a white pullover that probably cost what my car payment does. There's a gold chain on one wrist and something that isn't a Seiko on the other. Brown hair in a weird bob, no socks, and I confess I didn't look to closely at the shoes.

The face isn't classically handsome, and the potential Abercrombie factor is more or less a toss-up. Probably less. Definitely less. And not in that "less is more" kind of way. Not ugly, but more Brunhilde than Heidi Klum. He's more stocky and Germanic than tall, blonde and Norse. And his chin pokes out. Which Holy Roman Emperor was that? Didn't "The Tudors" do an episode? Charles the somethingth.

So Charles the Chin is ordering a mocha. And by the luck of the draw he gets one of my favorite baristas - Little Apron Aaron, whom we all remember from the Starbucks Apron Fashion Show episode of Starbucks Drama. And thus begins the pas de deux.

Charles is apparently on the prowl. Rather desperately on the prowl it seems, because he is not even subtle about pressing his suit.

First, he lingers by the register to ask about where Little Apron Aaron has been lately (working the morning shift). Then, there is a VERY unsubtle "caressing" of a biscotti.

I swear by all the powers above, below, sideways and by the almighty Cthulhu himself that I never thought there was a use for Starbucks biscotti before Tuesday night. Apparently, there is one. Clarence Carter HIMSELF would have been proud of this performance. Google it people.

Little Apron Aaron was unmoved. He whipped that iced mocha together in record time and slapped it across the counter and moved over to start cleaning out a frappuccino blender.

The message could not have been more clear. "Hi. Thanks for playing. So sorry the Wheel didn't work out for you. Isn't Vanna lovely tonight? There's some nice parting gifts backstage. Don't let the condiment bar hit you on the way out."

Charles the Chin rallies. His forefathers did, after all, invent blitzkrieg. Little Apron Aaron has no IDEA what he's up against. The might of the German Air Force, apparently. And I don't think he's British. He looks French. He has strange facial hair. And he likes striped shirts. I could totally see him in a glass box doing the Marcel Marceau thing. French it is. And we all know what happened to *them* during the war.

"So, do you still go out a lot," Charles queries. And he flashes his teeth. Big smile. He's still caressing the biscotti. Remember what I said about never, ever buying anything, anywhere, at any time? This is why. And the CDs. Oh Carly Simon. "You're So Vain" would have been perfect for this moment ....

Little Apron Aaron wavers. He finally realizes that he is being not just flirted but cruised, nay, not cruised, but steamrolled right inside the Starbucks in full public view of me, the other barista and some other kid with headphones studying something that involves a laptop and a pile of books over in the corner. "UHHHHHHHHHH." This is how the French felt when the Germans started coming over the Belgian border.

"You know, dat club. De big one, with de dance floor." (I'm trying to do a German accent, but I'm coming off more like the Governator. Forgive me. He was far more subtle than Arnold, but it was still a noticeable accent - and the schmooze made it all that much more insane!)

"Ohhhhhhh," goes the barista. "I don't go out as much any more. I haven't been to the club in a few months." There's a trapped look in his eyes. Or maybe just a "please, don't ask me about palimony." You never know.

"I didn't see you de last few times I vent out," Charles starts. Little Apron Aaron is practically in the sink by now. If I were him, I'd either surrender gracefully or start brewing espresso shots to hurl over the castle walls.

Little Apron Aaron stammers out something about work. Charles the Chin presses his suit and he's actually leaning over the counter. Any farther and he'll can put on an apron and start ringing up customers ....

And I'll never know how this little drama was going to end, although *badly* would likely be my guess, because a fat white man with a screaming child - WHAT IS IT with parents and kids rolling around at 9:30 p.m. these days - burst through the door and rolled up to the counter totally oblivious to the drama that was playing out right in front of us. Just like America. Saving the French then and now. Although this most certainly wasn't the 101st Airborne. Unless you count Delta 941 from Indiana ....


G.I. Normous buys the kid a frappuccino (yes, another one) and Charles the Chin heads off to a meat locker with Eva Braun. Wait, that was Benito Mussolini and the meat hook. At any rate, he leaves. Quietly, without fanfare and without Little Apron Aaron's phone number.