Monday, March 28, 2011

Near death and boredom at Starbucks

Tonight, I rocked out to Adele and watched a parade of tall and venti waters walk out the door.

One of the baristas seems to have a particular affection for the new Adele CD (I do as well, but I don't want to pay full price for it). So around 11 p.m. - when the store cleared out - she cranked that puppy and sang along at the top of her lungs. It sounded like a live cat being put down a garbage disposal.

I didn't care - the store has enough customers that she can't sing for very long at a stretch - so enough of Adele comes though to soothe the savage beast.

I'm always amused - and eminently honored - when the baristas let down their guard enough to let me be a part of their banter. You feel like part of the club then.

Today (or rather tonight), the discussion veers from hair weaves to "going to da club" to men back to hair weaves to Adele to 24-hour Starbucks to weird kids to the time someone threw a cappuccino at the barista working on bar.

It is an interesting night. I've clearly been hanging out at the wrong Starbucks if I missed someone slinging a drink. WHY WAS I NOT HERE?

Through all of this, two old fat cows behind me are blathering on about the near-death experience of them had on a hairpin turn somewhere in Connecticut.

With all the powers of Vishnu behind me, I don't think that I could make near death sound as boring as the fat one in red plaid. Really. She described a near-death experience of seeing a car sideswipe her on the turnpike with the emotional detachment of eating a bowl of cereal.

I saw the car.

I saw the license plate.

It was a vanity plate.

It had my mother's name.

I thought I was going to meet her in heaven.

I made a list of all the people I needed to call.

This went on for about 40 minutes, rendered in minute - MI-NUTE - detail, complete with follow-up traumatic visit to the son's house in Las Vegas, endless moments of paralysis in her driveway and the time she had to pull off the side of the road in a hail storm.

Now, render this in a flat tone.



Even flatter.


Flat like they thought the earth was in the Dark Ages.

Now run a steamroller over it.

That was how boring she was. Near death was never so dull.

Then, there was the kicker.

She said "I wondered if my son would go on the John Edward show to find me?"

Which begs the question - would he?

I wouldn't - for fear I'd be put to sleep.

Thank you again to all the Kindle subscribers and Facebook fans.

If you're so inclined, you can go online to the Starbucks Drama page on and leave a review 

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