Posted May 18, 2010 by jimhigley
I am a writer. I like to write in places that are conducive to writing. Sometimes that place is my kitchen table. Sometimes it’s at the same counter my youngest son enjoys his breakfast most mornings. Sometimes it’s on a plane. And, quite often, it’s at my neighborhood Starbucks.
Truth is, a few years ago, I wouldn’t be caught dead or alive in a Starbucks. Even though I can claim a connection to Seattle and Starbucks dating back to my college days, there was something I just couldn’t wrap my java lips around that made me feel comfortable there. I thought they were a little too slick. Too cold.
So, I stuck to one of their competitors. The one that has fireplaces.
But I eventually gave in when a new Starbucks opened a couple minutes from my house. It was just too convenient of a location to overlook and I gave it a try. And once I did, I was determined to keep going back until I could figure out the difference between “Tall” (my hint was it rhymed with “small”), “Grande,” and “Venti.” That process took two months.
The funny thing is, I’m just a plain old coffee drinker. Black. Bold. Grande. That’s it. Boring. To this day, when my writing is at a standstill, I let my ears start to wander up to the counter and I eavesdrop on the concoctions people are ordering. I don’t know what “whip” means. I don’t really understand what “double” is. I’m confused by “Chai.” I’m mystified by “Mistos.” And I’m convinced that all of their teas are the same thing just packaged in different, snazzy bags.
That being said, I enjoy my time at my Starbucks. I’m on a first name basis with most of the staff- er- baristas. I appreciate the free refills I now get as a Gold Card carrier (I have no idea how I got a Gold Card. It just showed up in the mail.) I have my favorite table, my favorite electrical outlet and don’t even think too often about the nice, cozy fireplace at my old haunts.
So, they win. I’m a convert. Now if I could just get them to sell my book.