Starbuck's Journals 2.15.07 Episode One

Okay - as promised here are some excerpts from the so-called "Coffee Journals." In part an experiment in writing, in observation, in reflection, and something to do while sipping some dark roast nectar from a legal but clearly addictive bean.

I've been to Starbuck's twice this week for my dark roast fix but didn't get the chance until now to take in the environment and observe Starbuck's attempt at creating community & selling coffee at the same time. Right now as I glance around it clearly is busy and some patrons are chatting away over their chosen drinks but interestingly, over half of the people here are solo like me. At least three Apple notebooks are opened up with their operator's brows furrowed and eyes focused on their LCD screens. Admittedly, I am blending in somewhat with the Apple-coolness as i have my iPod earbuds strategically placed like a hip cultural chameleon.

As I gaze over towards the walls, I see stare at some amazing images of people & scenery of the South American country of Peru. Sure enough, a few shots of the famed Machu Picchu - a stark contrast to the fireplace, well-dressed patrons, and coffee house atmosphere. I continue to scan and temporarily lock eyes with a somewhat concerned mid-thirties woman with long dark hair. Multi-tasking appears her game as she types one-handed on her iBook while checking messages on her cel phone. Clearly alone but still doing her part in attempting contact with someone out there.

Seated on the next table is a well-dressed Italian-looking man in his late 30s or maybe early 40s, legs crossed awkwardly, and reading a newspaper with an air of intelligence about him. His jet black hair is accented by some retro 50s glasses with thick black-armed frames.

I'm usually not one for details unless I'm taking photos, so I was surprised to glimpse a pair of crutches next to the concerned woman, and looking down, noticed her right leg was bound in a walking cast of sorts. Now I partially understand that look of concern may have something due to her obvious discomfort and lack of mobility. Her glances to the counter, may have been whether or not to attempt the obstacle of making her way there for another coffee. Dylan's playing Thunder on the Mountain in my ears.

So here I sit curiously watching the human condition in a coffee shop. I've chosen a rather quaint but cozy arm chair next to a blonde-haired woman who is furiously typing away on her PC notebook - clearly a 20-something student working on some type of essay for her professor. Little does she know that beside her a professor sits avoiding a stack of essays to be marked back in the office.

Then with a rather forceful swing of the front door, a curly-haired somewhat stocky man with a metal briefcase nervously enters. He looks Greek in origin with an olive complexion and eyes of a dark gold-ish brown color. He quickly orders a cup of coffee and makes a lap around the room looking for the appropriate place to sit. Interestingly, he does yet another lap and gazes over to the blond lady beside me...classic look up and down - good luck buddy!

The dark-haired woman gazes once again to the counter helplessly, maybe contemplating again whether or not it is worth the awkward shuffle for another drink. She looks so unsure and unsettled in her decision. I take in a good sip of caramel-soaked froth from the top of my Machiatto.

Over by the the pictures of Peru, beside the classic goofy-looking llama, a mid-40s goatee-wearing construction contractor type guy scans his newspaper but clearly is not really reading. On cue, he stretches and mouths a yawn while glancing at his watch. Probably awaiting a client for his next potential project.

Winnipeg is beginning to thaw and awaken from its three weeks of extreme cold to a balmy -10. At least that is what the weather forecasters say...they seem to be as accurate as tea leave readers at times though. Meteorology is more a game of chance than of proven science it seems. The girl next to me suddenly breaks out into a smirk and chuckles out loud. I begin to wonder if she can read my mind - was she reacting to my attempt at humour?

A young 18-19 year old girl raises her eyebrows as she awaits her caffeine fix. She seems genuinely excited as she awaits her coffee, almost like a golden retriever awaiting a good juicy bone. She is dressed rather plainly for this shop in a long, drab grey coat but she is carrying an over-sized black leather purse which is clearly mismatched with the rest of her apparel. Sort of like wearing those classic black "Sunday" shoes with blue jeans but what do I know about fashion.

The smooth Italian-looking guy buttons up his jacket, winding his scarf around his neck, and prepares to leave. The nervous curly-haired guy looks over and zeros in on the new potential resting spot nearer to the blond girl. As the other guy leaves, he trots over with a mild grin and opens up his mysterious metal case revealing not a bomb or some secret documents, but yet another laptop. In his other hand he holds a Blackberry-type of device and fingers away some message into wifi-dom. His laptop also is all about communications with both Outlook & MSN running. I thought he was stalking the girl next to me when in reality he was looking for a better spot to steal Internet access. He seems giddy with his newfound location and gets up and down a few times to adjust his power cord, and grabs a damp cloth to wipe his screen.

Meanwhile, the dark-haired lady rests her chin on her hands and elevates her restrained leg on the chair across from her. A mink-coated menopausal woman with a little too much hair color grabs a latte, escapes outside and gets into her luxury silver BMW or Audi. She speeds off the yard spitting up slush from her tires. A middle-aged mother and impatient teenaged daughter also dart out the door, in a rush somewhere like volleyball practice or maybe gymnastics.

It seems that for most customers, Starbuck's is only a temporary stop for them. A place to sit, nervously bite fingernails, sip some black nectar, and be still but only for a moment - then its time to rush off to the next thing. Being still is such a foreign concept for North America - there just is too much to do in so little time. Being still is a rarity in our busy-oriented, drive-thru world.

The curly-haired guy reminds me of an out-of-shape Magnum PI and clearly he still is nervous as he gnaws on yet another fingernail. The woman across from him stretches her torso, obviously still somewhat in pain as she winces while getting refocused on whatever she has been working on. She has one of those "glamor moles" on her cheek that remind us all of Marilyn Monroe. Weird how a birthmark or mole can be a trademark of sexiness on our planet of image.

A pixie-like purple-dyed teenaged barista tidies up after some customer's left behind newspapers & empty cups. The goatee'd guy takes another sip, yawns & stares back into his paper. Johnny Cash growls in my ears about an "empire of dirt." A mid 50s business man, all suited-up, complete with a receding hairline & hawkish eyes goes up to the counter to receive his order. An Cash drones on about how "everyone goes away in the end...you can have it all...my empire of dirt." The ironies of poets & their music & the reflections of real life in front of me.

We are a broken people it seems, longing for something to fill the void: maybe its community, self worth, friends, or significance? The goatee'd man greets a way-too friendly woman that seems more like a call girl than a potential customer. She turns her back to me, so I'm not sure if she is as interested as he seems. His grin turns up the sides of his mouth and his eyes soften with interest. His past boredom has turned into a slightly-amused interest in this lady. She breaks off her greeting and goes off to the barista to order a coffee.

The dark-haired woman is suddenly greeted by a mysteriously bearded 20 something guy who reaches out and clasps her hands briefly. She still has a phone by her ear and awkwardly is trying to end the call to return the greeting. He reaches out and brushes down her arm and continues to stand tall next to her sitting at the table. He glances at the screen of her iBook and then begins to shuffle his feet side to side impatiently - he clearly wants to leave. He then gazes at the headlines of a folded newspaper on the chair beside her. Finally, she puts down her phone but quickly checks one last thing on her computer before shutting it down and placing it in her backpack.

Her mysterious friend doesn't offer any help in cleaning things up and remains somewhat impatient in his posture. She dons a scarf and hobbles over to her crutches and firmly places them under her arms. She quickly grabs her gloves and the man finally steps up to the plate and slings her backpack over his shoulder and holds open the door as they step outside.

Then on cue, the purple-haired barrista floats by to magically clean up the table. She stares over to the do-it-yourself "sugar, cream, stir sticks, & lids" table and does a mental inventory. Coldplay's bassist plugs away at a grooving bass line as Martin croons out a falsetto-tinged line about the "speed of sound...if you could see it you would understand..." and drummer replies with his rhythm.

Almost my time to leave it seems. The curly-haired guy keeps nibbling his nubs and sending emails. A new patron sits down on the next table and the cycle of customers continues like bees visiting flowers for pollen. And I muse on...