Divisions and Precisions

Caffeine Gods

I guess one woman's trendy corporate empire is another's mystical focal point.

I started going to Starbucks when school started this semester. The second week of class I really wanted some coffee before class, and the idea of getting it from a vending machine at school made me feel nauseous. So I left home early at stopped at Starbucks.

I've always tried to understand why people would sit for hours in a coffeeshop, either studying or doing homework or working, with laptops and notebooks and books scattered hither and yon. What possessed them? Why leave a perfectly comfortable home, office, dormroom, whatever, to sit in hard wooden chairs or scrabble for the few upholstered seats? I envied them the comfort they had in just sprawling across their workspace, no matter that it was a public space.

Then came (you knew this was coming, right?) NaNoWriMo. I bought a keyboard for my Palm Pilot so I could write anywhere, and one day I ended up sitting in Starbucks in one of the comfy chairs, my Palm and keyboard and notebooks sprawled comfortably across my table.

It was a revelation. Hanging out and working in Starbucks was cool! You got to people watch, sometimes hear some pretty good music, and you had easy access to caffeine and goodies. Plus, sometimes just getting away from the usual surroundings made for a nice change.

It wasn't until I'd been writing there for a couple of weeks that I learned the truth about Starbucks: The entire world passes through their doors, making them a focus for much weirdness and eerie happenings. First, I noticed that if a certain employee was there, a pretty Arabic girl with an eyebrow piercing and a hijab, I would have a good writing day. If she wasn't there, I couldn't write for shit. Coincidence? Well, before you say so, read on.

One afternoon when I was writing there, a girl came and sat next to me and started drawing in a sketchbook. We exchanged greetings, but nothing more. Then she asked me about my Palm keyboard -- lots of people have done this. It's a pretty nifty-looking little gizmo. Out of the blue, she asked if I was writing a book. I explained that I was, and we started talking. Turns out she's a writer too. We talked about how we'd tried to find a writing group in town and failed. Then her friend came in, and turned out to be a gamer. We had a jolly old time chatting, and then before they left, she and I exchanged email addresses. We're still trying to get together to do some reading and critiquing.

The next case is even more eerie. A few months ago, I placed a Yahoo personal ad. I received a few responses, and the most intriguing one came from a 47 year old -- let's call him David. I was a little leery about possibly dating someone that much older than me, but we emailed back and forth several times. He found out where I worked and called me there. That was my first uneasy feeling, but I was flattered and let it go.

Then we exchanged home numbers. He called me one night, and we talked for almost two hours. He was... interesting. He said over and over again how youthful-looking and -acting he was. He told me stories about being a hippie, about living in New Mexico, he told me about his twenty-something son. David also told me about his job. ALL about his job. If David did something interesting, like say, taught school or wrestled bears or tracked down criminals with his super powers, this might have been cool. David sells benefit packages to local employers. He's an insurance salesman. I got hear about how Pfizer is the largest employer in the county. David also talks. A lot. During our conversation I barely got a word in edgewise. We got off the phone and I went on with my night -- then after 11 pm, when I was already in bed, he called again, "just to say goodnight". My stalker alarms went off, and I never spoke to him or heard from him again.

What does this have to do with Starbucks? Read on. I was sitting there one evening after work, trying to work on my novel. Next to me was a couple having an animated conversation about aura-reading. I glance over to see a skinny middle-aged balding man dressed in a dress shirt and slacks and a large woman in a painted sweatshirt. He was excitedly telling her about his aura colors, and how they mean he likes to make money. She looked politely bored and a little unsure of herself. I sat there, trying to write, but their conversation just kept boring into my concetration. The man's voice was irritating the hell out of me. I just wanted him to shut up and go away. I could not understand why I felt such antagonism for the man. It wasn't hard to figure out that they were on a blind date of some sort, and based on the references to emails, I figured they'd met online.

Then I heard him say, "You know, Pfizer is the largest employer in the county..." Then I heard her call him David. Then I realized why his voice irritated me so badly.

I sat there for several stunned minutes, debating whether or not to tell him who I was. Then when he leaned over to ask me about my Palm keyboard, I was afraid to speak out loud for fear that he would recognize my voice. Laura said later I should have caught the woman's eye and given her the international sign for "run like fuck". (This sign apparently consists of waving your arms and mouthing "run like fuck".)

(Later that night I overheard a priest telling his parishoner that he was exercising with a personal trainer to get a washboard stomach. In a lisp that would make a stereotypical gay man green with envy. But that's another story for another day.)

Finally, today I was there again. While I sat there writing, I heard someone say, "Hi, Lisa!" I looked up, and there was an old friend I haven't seen in years. Last I'd heard she was thinking about moving off to another part of the country. Turns out she's still in town, going to one of the universities around, and working in computers, like me. We spent several minutes catching up, swapping gossip about our old circle of friends and ex-boyfriends, and when we exchanged contact information, we marveled at having found each other again in Starbucks of all places.

I could have told her that Starbucks is a nexus, where world and worlds pass through on their way to caffeinated bliss.

Posted by Lisa at December 15, 2001 05:13 PM