Every morning I go to Starbucks to buy overpriced coffee…a tall Blonde in a grande cup…I always think of the film The Attack Of The 50 Foot Woman whenever I say that, proving my life has turned into one old movie.
I’m lucky there are so many Starbucks to choose from in a five block radius, because the one nearest to me drives me nuts for a variety of reasons.
For starters they rarely open on time. I’ve been known to hang out in front like a stray cat waiting to be let in. They’re in there giggling setting up as if they have all the time in the world. Imagine turtles making coffee, coffee I should get for free for my tolerance alone.
I tell myself, as my temperature’s rises and the jukebox’s blowin a fuse…as the song goes…it’s early, and they probably all come from considerable distances just to serve the bitchy Upper East Side. Compassion replaces ire but I’ll admit, having to really push it out of the way like a dresser someone left in the hall.
I’ve learned to just go to the one four blocks and one avenue up to save myself the early morning irritation. They open on time, with a smile I might add, unlike their sister who growls when you’re the first customer.
“Aren’t you married?”
“No, and if I were I’d still be here, just with him paying.”
Not to blow my own altruistic horn, but I’ve also been known to help them. I’ll pull a few chairs down, bring the newspapers in that are languishing in front like pulp orphans, which brings me to what inspired this post.
This morning I was a little late myself…a good thing since they were actually open when I got there. The papers, as usual, were still outside so I brought them in. There was a stack of New York Times, and one lonely New York Observer.
I drop them on the counter without even a nod from the cashier…okay, I’m used to that plus no one asks me to bring them in calling this, rationalizing rudeness…order my usual and go sit in the corner to torture all my friends with lengthy email.
Something tells me to look at my coffee receipt since I charged it on Visa…a whole other essay…and see it was doubled causing me to zoom back to the counter.
“Excuse me, but I’ve been overcharged. It should be 2.o1, not 4 something.”
The head turtle waddles over and stares at the receipt long enough to memorize it. After I age standing there she says. “Did you buy a newspaper?”
She charged me for a paper, the Observer that I brought in.
If it wasn’t so outrageous it would be funny.
“No, I did not…I just carried it in.”
She then walks away to go make some guy a latte.
“Excuse me…could you please give me a refund.” If looks could kill I’d be in the cup she was holding dead in boiling water.
She then turtles back with a tude, as my friend Ella likes to call an attitude, that could melt ice.
No good turn goes unpunished, as they say….and I think I’ll be heading from now on to the Starbucks who at least pretends they’re happy to see me at 5:36 AM. A little pretense goes a long way at that hour.If I knew how, I would have superimposed my picture across hers…
anything to amuse myself.