I’m back at Starbucks again, toiling away my lunch hour listening to peoples conversations and reading gossip blogs instead of writing a novel.
There is a lady here that is making me more hopeful about my fertility, or lack thereof. She has gray hair, and her kid isn’t more than a year old. She is with another girl who is younger and I can’t figure out how they know each other but their conversation is awkward and stilted and revolving around the kid. As in: dead silence, drink of coffee, “oh his shirt is cute,” silence, “yeah”.
The womens restroom is broken, so I had to use the mens. And I had just seen the guy that had come out of there, he was all business, in a nice suit, not a cheap one. I go in there and he didn’t flush. There was still froth from his urine hitting the water. SICK. I don’t know why I assume someone in a nice suit has better manners than that, but I do.
I think there are two people here on that “Just Lunch” date thing. And if I were either one of them, I would be thinking: Score. They are both hot, and while I question his suit jacket, I think they should make it dinner. I fully support them trying to make this work. (update, I am out of control watching this couple. I literally just almost fell out of my chair leaning over to watch them in the parking lot to see if they kissed before they got in their cars. They didn’t, but they hugged.)
The rest of them are ramblers, random people not at work who would appear at Starbucks off of Grand and MLK. That’s what I like about this location, it’s less “hipster’ (the dreaded word) and more “I think I have enough change for this scone” with a little bit of “do you know how much I paid for this suit?” thrown in.