Running Tights, Boots, and a Bird

Even in a land a free spirits like Santa Monica, this one caught my eye.

First off, she was gorgeous – pretty as a model.

And a beautiful figure!

(Yeah, I noticed, so shoot me.)

But that wasn’t what caught my eye.

That wasn’t what caught everyone’s eye.

It was the ensemble. That’s what turned a dozen heads.

It was the totality of her UGG boots, with full-length running tights tucked into them.  Oh, and a large bird on her shoulder, brushing up against her long blonde hair.

That’s a statement.

One that posed a lot of questions.

So, I felt compelled to ask.   And that’s saying something, since I normally stay to myself and just judge the world from a distance.

I’m glad I did ask. Because she happened to be a kind soul with a warm and welcoming smile and a story to tell.

Which shouldn’t surprise me; everyone, I have found – whether they appear nondescript or have a parrot on their shoulder (or a chip on their shoulder) – has a story to tell, a story worth hearing.  Much of hers came willingly.

The boots with the running tights?  She starts her Saturdays with a Starbucks cuppa then goes straight out for a run or to yoga.

The parrot?  It’s actually an Australian Galah.  A special kind of Cockatoo.

And special to her, as the Galah has been her faithful companion for nearly seven years (and might be for 70 years, given the captive Galah’s potential lifespan).

Her well-mannered Galah is partial to the Starbucks pastries, so of course her feathered friend comes with her.  And then, on her way to the yoga session or run, she stops at a nearby city park to do the Galah equivalent of walking the dog – letting it take a tethered flight through the trees.

She has an accent (the woman, not the Galah).  An accent that I couldn’t quite discern. It adds to her mystique, since she confirmed that she is not Australian, even though her Galah is, but she never offered to tell what it was.

And I did not catch her name.

But there’s always next Saturday.

The Power of Pretty

So, sure, this is restating something you probably already know, even if you haven’t thought about it.

But good looks, I’ve observed, make the world go ‘round.

No, for real. 

And I just witnessed it in action…

Two customers, both waiting for their orders, right?

Both waited nearly the same length of time – too long, due to a crowd and insufficient staff.

Both waited patiently.

So, yes, they had a lot in common.  Except for one thing…

One customer was a balding man in his 50s: overweight, with a naturally dour expression.  Not an ugly man, but perhaps a bit … uh … normal, let’s say.

The other was an exceptionally pretty young woman, early 20s, with a slim, petite figure and that classic girl-next-door sweetness.  Every man and woman in the store glanced at her as she walked by.

No one noticed when Mr. Normal Guy walked by.

The pretty lady’s order was ready first.  The employee apologized profusely for the delay and even offered her a free side item to compensate for the wait.  She gratefully accepted, thanking him and saying it wasn’t necessary.

Then the average man’s order was ready next – just a half a minute later.

“Here you go, sir,” the employee cheerfully said as he handed over the order … and promptly returned to work. 

No sympathy extras for you, Mr. Normal Guy! 

Not until you grow some pecs, shrink some abs, get veneers, grow your hair back, and flash a killer smile.

Unfair? Sure. 

Undeniable? Sure.

Pretty sure.

Social Cues, Anyone?

I don’t understand how it is …

…that such a large percent of the population lacks the ability to read obvious social cues.

It seems that in every Starbucks, there’s always one patron – at least one – who is determined to strike up – and keep up – a conversation with others who are clearly not interested in a conversation, trying to do something else.

Like read a newspaper, or check e-mail.

It’s obvious, isn’t it?

Like, say a person is already engrossed in something…

And you greet them, or ask them a question.

But they respond to your greeting or question with a short, mumbled response or polite smile … and then they immediately return to their book or paper or typing.

Maybe they appreciate the greeting, but they’ve clearly sent a signal, right?

“I’m busy here and really don’t want to have a conversation right now.”

That’s the signal.  That’s the obvious body language message.

Obviously.

Right?

Apparently not.  Not always. 

And definitely not today.

Today, I am in a different Starbucks than I normally visit and there it is, it happened again.  A guy – a regular, it turns out – is relaxing with his newspaper – let’s call him Bob –and another regular looks over his notebook PC screen, sees Bob, and calls out to him by name. 

Bob smiles (painfully, it seems to me), how-do-you-do’s the other guy – let’s call him Clueless – and then quickly turns his attention back to the newspaper.

Clearly, Bob’s done talking and wants to keep reading his paper.

Clearly, right?

Not to Mr. Clueless.

Clueless launches into a five minute diatribe against employers in his former profession, throughout which Bob mostly keeps looking down at his paper, nodding occasionally so as to not be too rude to Clueless, and obviously hoping, desperately hoping, that Clueless will get a clue from his social cues. 

No such luck. 

Finally, Clueless stops talking!

But not because he finally notices that Bob is trying to read a newspaper.  No. Apparently Clueless just ran out of complaints.

Oops, my bad – Clueless just wanted a sip of his coffee. 

Because he then launches into a new complaint against who-cares-who, which he continues for several more minutes. 

I notice that Bob is now doing a lot less looking up from his paper, and even making an occasional sigh.

Signal, anyone? 

To anyone but Clueless, yes.  Clueless never does get it.  He just keeps talking, as though he’s engaged in a two-way conversation, seemingly unaware that he’s the only one talking.

I keep watching…

And I’m wondering when Bob is going to get so frustrated that he just gets up and leaves, giving up on his goal of enjoying a cuppa and his morning paper.

Fortunately, he doesn’t need to, because Clueless finally gets up and leaves, giving Bob a friendly handshake as if to say how much he’s enjoyed this conversation. 

So, of course, I immediately walked over to Bob and started a five-minute conversation about how frustrating it must have been and how I hate when people do what Clueless just did, and how much I hate the weather today and how about them Dodgers and …

So, okay, I didn’t really do that.

Don’t I wish this was an isolated incident!

But alas, it ain’t. As one who often uses Starbucks stores as a place to work on a client project or to work on some creative writing effort, I’m often the one who is frustrated by a regular or a stranger determined to have a conversation, clueless to the signals I’m putting out there to say, without saying, that I’m not interested in a conversation. 

This time, I get to be the observer. 

And I feel for the guy.  For Bob.  Or whoever he is.

A quick clarification though …

I know that some of my Starbucks compatriots read my blogs.  So let me just state that I’m probably not talking about you.  It’s a joy to see you and catch up with you.  And if I really need to get work done, I’ve learned to be more direct, just in case my social cues might be overlooked. 

So if I haven’t said to you, “Sorry, but I’ve got to get this done” or “I can chat in ten minutes, once I’ve finished this client job” or some such, then don’t worry that you might have missed a social cue. 

We’re still pals, right?

Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to finish this post… 

The Quest for a New Sbx – Score!

Yes, you’re right – it’s gotten a bit dusty on this blog.  A new onsite contract position, with long hours and long commute, has hamstrung my Starbucks chillin’ time.

To kill the 90-minute commute, I’ve moved to a place near Santa Monica, just 3 miles from the workplace.  But this brings the challenge of…

Finding a new Starbucks

And let’s face it, they aren’t all the same.

It’s got to have the right vibe, you know?

I don’t know what that means for you but, for me, that means:

• The background music volume doesn’t intrude on the foreground (you’d think a major chain would have volume consistency, right?  wrong.).
• It’s not too crowded (some great Starbucks are entirely inaccessible due to their overflowing crowds).
• Good lighting (many stores are sun-baked in every good seat – maybe good for reading, but a thumbs-down for us notebook PC’ers)
• A minimum of obnoxious regulars.  Enjoyable regulars are always a bonus.

After coming across a few duds in my new neighborhood, I have just happened upon…

The perfect new Starbucks store!

As I walked in the door, I knew I had found it.  The vibe was right.  Perfect for hanging out, chillin’, workin’ … and you know what?

And I’m not telling you where it is.  Why?  Because it’s so sweet that the last thing I want is a crowd in there messin’ it up.

Selfish??

Don’t be silly.  Of course it’s selfish.

And you would be too if you knew of it’s top-secret mojo enhancer.

Okay, okay, you twisted my arm.  Here’s the secret vibe sauce:

Exactly.  The leather chairs.

Maybe it’s different in the Midwest or the Northeast, but out here in sunny So-Cal, there’s clearly a Starbucks corporate plot that has rapidly spread for store to store – a plot to rid the California Southland of all these comfy leather chairs and replace them with more wooden table-chair combos and, at best, a slightly padded, moderately comfortable chair with hard, wooden arm rests.

This store clearly didn’t get the memo.

It’s got three of these big leather mommas, perfect for camping out in for hours (which, no doubt, is exactly why Starbucks is getting rid of them).

To be a tad less selfish, I’ll give you one location clue.  The store is in California somewhere south of San Francisco.

Way south of San Francisco.

Animated Conversation … With the Person Not in the Room

I’ve heard it said that you can tell how old a person is by how amazed they are by the cool things you can do with technology these days (i.e., anyone under, say, 25 generally takes it for granted).

So, maybe I’m old then.

Because I’m getting a real kick out of watching some white-bearded guy in a cowboy hat wildly gesticulating and silently mouthing a conversation with a person sitting across the table from him … except that no one is sitting across from him.

Mind you, at the Eagle Rock Starbucks, it’s not that unusual to see a person talking to themselves.

But then I notice the tiny computer on his table – one of those newfangled* iPads – which is streaming full-screen images of the person he is talking with.

And I suddenly realize that they are both deaf, or at least they are both fluently speaking in sign language.

And I’m thinking, how freakin’ cool: two folks from across the – who knows, across town? across the world? – enjoying a chat as easily as if they were truly sitting across the table from each other.

Modern technology.  How cool.

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* Old fogey alert: Note that the use of the word “newfangled” is a sure sign that one is no longer a spring chicken**.

** Likewise, the use of the word “spring chicken” or “old fogey” is proof positive that you’re nowhere near being a whippersnapper***.

*** And use of the word “whippersnapper” …

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Samurai Manager Guards Her Starbucks

It’s good to be back in the Eagle Rock area, really it is.

It’s a lovely Starbucks too.  Really.  It is.

It’s just a bit more adventuresome than your average Starbucks.

I mean, Eagle Rock is hardly skid row, right?

But it’s got its element of the homeless and insane.

More than its fair share, it seems to me.

Which always makes Starbucking colorful here.

Take just now, for instance, when a yelling match ensued between the stalwart store manager and an obstinate homeless patron.

Well, “patron” isn’t the right word.

You see, for many of the homeless, Starbucks is popular.  No, not for the coffee, but for a comfy chair, some warmth, and a restroom.

And the manager is remarkably tolerant, I find. As long as the non-paying visitor is not sleeping, not bothering patrons, not camping out in the restroom, not making a scene, and not staying for hours, she turns a blind eye.

But today’s visitor was one of those guys who, though never a customer, has become a regular.  Too regular.  And like a barnacle, he is not easy to extricate once he settles in.

And so the manager – a rather petite Asian woman – stopped the big man (who looked a bit like an unshaven, unsteady version of Graham Greene) at the entrance, telling him he is not welcome.

He did not appreciate her viewpoint. 

Loudly.

And the Starbuckers got nervous, distracted from their laptops, their newspapers, their novels, their pumpkin spice half-caf lattes, and their idle chatter to sideglance at the rising confrontation.

But the more the man protested, the more firm the manager got.  Though probably half his weight, she held her ground.

I sauntered my scrawny ass over to the newspaper rack – which, yes, was right beside the exit – and nonchalantly flipped through the papers, staying close to her just in case the stubborn visitor got ugly. 

Well, uglier. 

Armed as I was with a Monday edition of the LA Times, I’m sure I could have done an outstanding job of defending her from an attack if it had come.

But it didn’t.  Her steely brown daggers, aka eyes, held him at bay.

And he finally backed down, backed off, and stormed away from the store.

I holstered my LA Times.

And the manager holstered her fiery countenance, returned to her sentry post behind the counter. A half second later, she was flashing a friendly smile and a perfectly poised what-can-I-get-for-you-today for the next patron in line.

Samurai, I tell you.  Pure Samurai.

How Long Can I Hold My Breath?

I’m all settled in, laptop at the ready, coffee and Pumpkin Scone beside me

When I suddenly realize that I’m surrounded by coughers, wheezers, and sneezers.

I didn’t get the memo, that Friday morning at Starbucks is the time for the weekly meeting of the too-sick-to-have-any-business-being-out-in-public club.

Now, I’m covering my coffee with a napkin, keeping my scone in the bag between bites, and trying to hold my breath for at least 45 seconds after each customer’s cough.

And this is me before I’ve seen the movie Contagion!

Why did I come to Starbucks this morning?  Oh, right, now I remember: to focus on writing.

It’s not working.

Other than this.