There are things I can turn down: saunas, gym memberships, mani/pedis and chocolate chip bacon cookies are in this category.
Then there are things that I can’t turn down: a trip to the bookstore, a nap, reality tv, and premium coffee are in this category. Premium coffee is a real vice of mine. In my personal expense column of our budget, nearly every line reads, “Starbucks” or “Scooters.”
So when driving back from a seminar, my co-worker suggested we stop at Starbucks, I swerved my car across three lanes of traffic and into a parking space so fast it compelled her to ask, “does Steve usually drive?”
Inside, the lonely barista was so excited to see some young women, he made up some carnie schtick, claiming he could guess our drink of choice by looking at us. He completely butchered my co-worker’s, but she ordered it anyway, probably to boost his self-esteem. He was, after all, a carnie in his past life, and she still has compassion for much of mankind.
When it came my turn, I let him get a good look at me to size me up. “Look me in the eyes,” he said, “it’s all in the eyes.” How many seconds until a gaze becomes an eyeful? Because wherever that line is, he came dangerously close to it. Of course, he butchered my drink of choice as well, although I am hard to guess because my drink is no longer listed on the menu (I’m mysterious and elusive like that).
We left with our drinks in hand, and with the disturbing sense that a lonely barista just made up a hell of a line to ogle us. “Turn around, I need to see your ass to decide whether or not you want whip cream,” I joked. But was it a joke? Or did a carnie just outsmart two businesswomen from a seminar? God damn it.