A wrinkle a day keeps the hearing aid away

The time isn't important. Neither is the place. Well, it *was* a Starbucks. That much should be obvious. We ARE called Starbucks Drama, after all.

I'm TRYING to drink my venti iced mocha, update the cruel and uncaring world on the doings at Starbucks via my handy cell phone and in general collect my shattered wits when out of the clear blue yonder comes a screech that would wake the dead. Hell, it would have woke the undead, the newly dead, the not-yet-dead and probably anything Chuck Norris kills by looking the other way - said look traveling the circumference of the earth and catching the unfortunate creature in the rear.

"SHOULD I STAND OVER HERE OR OVER HERE?"

"SHOULD I HOLD MY COFFEE?"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK?"

I pray to the demented gods that I worship - namely coffee, chocolate and caffeine - that whatever is making those squawks isn't talking to me and look up.

It isn't. The collection of wrinkles that is making those noises is wearing a lime green sun visor, has a fanny pack and what can only be described as orthopedic walking shoes. She's holding an iced coffee of some sort and is holding a VERY loud and VERY public conversation with her two companions, both of whom differ from her only in color of sun visors. And one has a camera. WOACAs. In the flesh.

They're determined to take a tourist photo INSIDE this Starbucks.

Not to matter that this is the first relatively *cool* day we've had in this part of Florida for a week. Not to matter that we're less than a mile from beaches that people FLY FROM EUROPE TO VISIT. Not to mention that THERE IS NOTHING TO TAKE A PHOTO OF except a wall and some battered chairs.

"SHOULD I MOVE OVER BY THIS BAR THING?"

"SHOULD I KEEP HOLDING MY COFFEE?" Didn't we ask this one already?

"WHAT'S GOING TO BE THE BEST PLACE FOR THIS?"

Cabinet debates are decided with less fervor. And less volume, unless someone takes off a shoe and does a Nikita Khrushchev. Somehow, I don't see Janet Napolitano and Hilda Solis getting into a fight over Jimmy Choos in the White House. Michelle Obama has cornered the market on fashion anyway. Except for belts - someone should REALLY tell the woman to stop wearing those high-waisted belts. Hideously ugly on her.

"WHAT ABOUT OVER HERE?"

"DOES THE LIGHT LOOK GOOD FROM HERE?" What the hell? Are you painting the Mona Lisa? You're taking a picture that NO ONE will ever look at again. Inside a Starbucks. Are you going to put it on a Christmas card?

"WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITH MY COFFEE?" Drink it. Or I have a few suggestions. Most of those *ARE* anatomically possible - at least with the coffee. The cup? Not so much.


 They move. They snap a photo. They move. They snap a few more. I swear to Kali, if I hadn't see the fanny packs, I might have thought this was an elaborate set-up for movie producers or something. That, and the fact that they were screaming at the top of their lungs the entire time. I actually looked for a camera crew when I went outside.

"OH THIS IS SO CUTE. I LOVE THIS PLACE." You've never been in a Starbucks? My god. Where the hell did you come from? Actually, I should reserve judgment on that. My tiny hometown still doesn't have one. The Wal-mart there used to close at 8 p.m. It would stay open until 5 p.m. on Christmas Eve and people though that was big news. Does any Wal-mart anywhere ever close now?

"WHERE SHOULD WE STAND? CAN WE MOVE THESE TABLES? WHAT ABOUT OVER THERE?"

"LET ME DRINK MY COFFEE AND WE'LL TAKE A PICTURE"

 I have to admit. I couldn't take it. And my tolerance for stupidity used to be extremely high. One day, I'll reveal all. But it was mostly the screaming. The ear-piercing shriek of these banshees was just inconceivable. This is an awful analogy, but slap a small child. Listen to the whine. Then slap it again. And again. Just, the whine. The eardrum-penetrating whine. In triplicate. And it was hopped up on sugar and caffeine. Oh. It gets better.


"WHERE ARE WE GONNA EAT?"

"LET'S TAKE ANOTHER PICTURE"

"WHAT ABOUT OVER HERE"


"I'M NOT DONE WITH MY COFFEE."

"LET ME FINISH MY COFFEE BEFORE YOU TAKE ANOTHER ONE."

"WHAT ARE WE DOING JUST STANDING HERE?" I wondered the EXACT SAME THING!

I left. I went to the bathroom and left. And I could still hear them. Past twenty feet of LOUD coffee shop space and through a storage closet and two walls. I COULD STILL HEAR THEM.


"LET'S MOVE OVER HERE AND TAKE ANOTHER PICTURE."

"DO YOU LIKE THIS COFFEE? I DON'T KNOW IF I LIKE THIS COFFEE."

"DON'T USE THAT ONE. I WASN'T SMILING. TAKE ANOTHER ONE."

I washed my hands and ran. So had most of the coffee shop at that point. Two old guys trying to read the paper had packed it in. A touristy-looking couple cashed in their chips as well. The squawkers even managed to drive away the bratty party of kids that wanted six free waters.  There was just one hood-rat-looking kid left - and he had headphones on.

As I left, I heard a final squawk. Through the door, mind you. Through a solid wood and glass door. It was like I was standing right next to her and she was screaming.

And this is what she screamed.


"I GUESS I SHOULD GO TO THE BATHROOM BEFORE WE LEAVE. I HAVE TO PEE ANYWAY."

No. Really. America did not need to know that. I never did see a camera crew.