Starbucks Drama: That door ain't gonna open

The bathroom at one of my regular Starbucks has been known to have "problematic" plumbing.  At least three times in the past few months there's been a an amateurish "OUT OF ORDER" sign slapped on the door. Once it was even slapped up with Starbucks Via stickers (see photo at right).

The cake was taken tonight.

It was not just taken. It was thrown, nay, HURLED spitefully, with much venom and invective, to the French peasantry by a beribboned and bewigged Marie Antoinette who gleefully shouted "You shall not have cake! You shall have sparkle donuts and cupcakes and you shall weep in shame of glorious pastry." Granted, that doesn't make much sense, but it was pretty to write.

The downtown Starbucks put up yet another "OUT OF ORDER" sign on the bathroom tonight. The store was full when I came in, and I got one of the last tables facing right down the hall to the bathroom. The drama was incredible.

First one off the bat was a princess, who swanned in with slacks, three inch heels and enough floral perfume to mask a skunk. It was a veritable cloud of musk.  There was a look down her pert little nose at the uncooperative door. Followed by a scrunching of the nose and a scowl. HOW DARE IT! And thus the door handle was jiggled. Because time, space and the very curvature of space-time shall bend to her will. Not this door though. It weren't gonna budge. So she jiggled the handle again - harder. And flounced out. After a quick glance at me to see if I'd seen her little performance. I looked away - and fought the urge to laugh - loudly.

She was followed in quick succession by a hipster with a laptop and a fortysomething blonde with black slacks and some sparkly shoes. Rhinestone cowgirl ... Riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo ...

Number four is interesting. Geezerific. Six-foot plus, turquoise slacks and a sweater Bill Cosby wouldn't touch even if little Rudy gave it to him. He walks up, stares at the sign as if not quite comprehending it, then grabs the door and yanks violently. Entitlement syndrome. Lots of money, no taste and no manners. Then he reads the sign, sighs in disgust and stomps out with great clomping sounds. I've heard cows produce cowflops on concrete with less noise.

Number five is a trio of well-dressed thirtysomething men, who move en masse toward the restroom - to what end I don't know - unless they were planning to smoke dope or snort some blow. They refrain from jiggling the handle but do let out a big  "Aww man," thereby revealing their probable frat-boy origins. Maybe they just had to go.

Number six was an old lady, who stared at the door with disgust and stomped out. She was wearing black tights and ballet flats and pushing one of those carts like old ladies in New York use to carry the shopping home with.

Number seven was a Hispanic couple, out on the town. She was wearing what I thought was a chocolate brown sequined jumpsuit with orange and red rhinestones on the front. It turned out to be separates - but was still ugly. Upon her toilet denial, she flipped the door the bird and turned on a cork-wedge heel and spun out, curls bobbing and some Latin invective hanging in the air.

And so it went, on through the night.

The cops were particularly interesting. It was a matched set, his and hers policemen, who came in. The blonde male cop - who could have easily doubled for Dolph Lundgren - stared at the door for a while and decided to jiggle the handle. He comes out into the main area of the Starbucks and asks "What's wrong with the bathroom?" Does it really matter what's wrong? You're still not getting in there!

One of the baristas goes over and unlocks what I always thought was a storage closet, but apparently has another toilet and a sink in it. Nice to know the baristas have a backup loo.

A pack of teenage girls comes in - and heads to the bathroom in a clump. The hive mind is in effect, only to be thwarted by three simple words - "OUT OF ORDER." It takes a while to process this, because they have to hold up a finger to the sign and go over the words. I wonder if they can read things not written in text-message speak? "Well."  And they flounce out. One of them is wearing knee-high black-and-white striped socks with red Chuck Taylor All-Stars. It's a lot of look.

That was my night.