Here now, is the ...... the rest of the story.
This is the Starbucks at US 41 and Immokalee Road. I rolled out with a friend of mine for a quick post-lunch, pre-afternoon meeting caffeine break when we saw this craziness go down.
We were sitting in my car - a recalled Toyota as I'm so fond of putting it now - and preparing to get out when this .... man walked right in front of us.
He looked like a homeless person and there was *definitely* something strange going on. He had what looked like a huge sack of something stuffed up under his shirt. It was either that or the biggest beer belly this side of Boss Hogg. (Sorrell Booke, you are sorely missed.)
Despite my love for Starbucks Drama - we have a *firm* policy of not entering a place when it looks like there might be a homeless person threatening to blow the place up. No caffeine is worth this.
Dumpy makes a trip up and down the patio and the goes inside. He pops back out immediately and makes another trip back and forth down the length of the patio. We're gasping for breath from laughing and screaming and going "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" Of course, we've both already tweeted the news.
We're waiting for him to make another pass so we can grab a photo or video - but not be too obvious. We don't want to provoke a "situation."
He goes back inside. And right back out. It must not smell right.
We're trapped in the car. We *need* a coffee, but we're not quite sure what to do about him. He's looking more unstable by the second and we can't figure out what the heck he has under that shirt. Mike Tyson? A tiger? World Peace? A health care plan? Who knows?
He makes another pass and I get off a few photos. He doesn't come back out and there isn't an exodus of screaming patrons from the Starbucks, so he must have settled into a quiet corner.
We decide to risk it - the need for caffeination being larger than our queasiness over craziness.
We go in and there's not a sign of him. I roll my eyes and imagine that he's one of the homeless types that camp out in Starbucks bathrooms. We get drinks and leave and then I see him.
He's wedged himself into a nook and is reading the paper. The huge lump under the shirt WAS A FREAKING PILLOW.
This dude has pulled up a low coffee table, settled the pillow on it, taken off his shoes (but left on the socks), stretched out the legs, feet up and is browsing the Wall Street Journal
like the lord of the manor. I expected him to pull a bell and ring for Jeeves.
I'm only surprised there wasn't a silk lounging robe and some cigars in there.
I can't imagine the scene when the baristas finally realized what was going on and decided to shoo him out.
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