On a Starbucks Shuttered
They say you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.
I don’t know who they are; but I know of what they speak.
I recently lost a coffee place (not a Starbucks). It was a traumatic experience.
Last year, my eye doctor asked if I did a lot of reading at work: “Mostly SEC filings”, I said. “That’ll do it”, he replied, “You have what I like to call computer eyes”. And so, for the first time in my life, I became acutely aware of the occupational hazards of investing.
Now, a few times a month, I take a couple hours off to venture outdoors. Yes, I know the sun’s demonic rays cause cancer; but they also cure electronic induced ennui. Sounds fair to me.
There’s one coffee place I always go. I take my Kindle with me (hopefully there’s no such thing as Kindle eyes), order a double espresso (and since this isn’t a Starbucks I actually say the words “double espresso”), give the cashier three singles, get ninety-five cents back and drop it all in the tip jar (I’m not generous; I just hate change).
Then, I take a table (yes, it’s the same table every time – I told you I hate change) and stay there reading until I feel guilty I only paid three dollars and I’m hogging their table.
At that point, I usually stay another hour.
If my behavior is typical of their customers, it’s not entirely surprising that I should’ve come upon the sight I saw last week, though it came as quite a shock to me.
The place was empty. The tables gone. The signs gone. Everything gone.
This was a change. I did not like it. But I soldiered on. Off I went to the nearest coffee place (again, not a Starbucks). The trek was slightly less than half a block. There I found a handwritten sign in the window:
Closed for vacation. Back next month.
Another change. I did not like it. At that point, I realized it was a summer day, I was hot, and I probably didn’t want coffee anyway. So I walked another half block to a deli, bought a Cherry Coke, gave the cashier two singles, got eighty-three cents back and dropped it all in the tip jar (again, I’m not generous; I just hate change).
I haven’t related this most boring of stories to you for no reason.
Much modern writing (even some blog writing – wink, wink, nudge, nudge) drips with sarconihilism, that especially astringent strain of sarcasm bordering on nihilism. In such writing, not only is nothing sacred – nothing is above casual, comedic contempt. It is occasionally hilarious, often elitist, and indubitably dishonest.
It makes fun of life’s littlest pleasures, especially the ordinary. Starbucks is a frequent target; the coffee chain is nothing if not ordinary:
… Read moreThe green aprons, the blond wood, the safari-themed coffee art and the chalkboards. From Chula Vista, Calif., to Bangor, Me., all Starbucks are more