So I’ve arrived at Starbucks at 6:30 this morning so I can start work. It’s 70 degrees outside. The fog is lifting off Lake Washington in an angelic flight and bikers head to the Burk Gilman for a rare April non-rainy ride.
You can hear the heavens singing to the tune of Allelujiah, “SUNNN-SHINNEEE. SUNNN-SHINNNEE” (Only in Seattle is this a miraculous event.)
There are two power outlets at this Starbucks. One near a window and one in the far back corner of the seating under a florescent light that flickers until you get seizures.
Remember, it’s six-fucking-thiry on Saturday.
I walk in and there is someone’s stuff parked at The Only Table near the plug-in at the window. There is no person with said stuff. I order, walk around and start asking if anyone knows who’s stuff that is. I talk to a nice mom from out of town who makes me laugh because her kids got up when mine did. I talk to nice little old couples reading the morning paper. I talk to the Baristas who say, “Nope, we haven’t seen anyone there for an hour.”
I assume it was left there on accident. The Barista comes to remove it and put it in the lost and found. Until just then, two old men sitting on the other side of the store come out to claim the stuff. “Oh, that’s mine.” He strides over and sits at the four person table. “Oh, do you mind if I share the table with you?” I ask because I’m showered, not smelly, and really very quiet. “Um. No, you can’t.” He looks at me like this should be enough but I’m a persistent little thirty year old bitch that doesn’t really let people get away with being rude anymore. “Oh, see, I just need the plug-in, and.. well… this is the only one here…”
He looks at me.
I look back at him.
“Well, I’m a poet and I need to sit and not be distracted. So.”
“Oh, ok, I just didn’t know anyone was sitting there. They said it’s been here for an hour or more.” “Yesss,” he says, “I always save this seat. You’d have to get here really early to beat me.”
Oh. I didn’t know you saved seats at Starbucks. At mother-fucking-six-thirty-in-the-morning-on-Saturday.
I hope he’s drafting a poem about me RIGHT NOW.
“Ode to the bitch who wants my seat. Fuck you. The End.”
Sell that to Hallmark.
**P.S. Yes, thank you! I see all your fun Prom stories and want to update my post with your links. I do. After I beat up this jackass and get some work done I promise I will.
**P.P.S. Thank you to everyone for participating in Brutal Honest Monday. Don’t forget it’s almost Monday again so get yer questionable attire out and start drafting your post!
**P.P.P.S. Yes, I cuss a lot when I’m pissed. Or drinking. Or writing.
***P.P.P.S. My Mother is so proud of that fact.
19 guests here now.
HA! That is hilarious, good laugh this morning. He’s probably not as talented a poet as you are, the ass.
By supermama on 2008 04 12
May he choke on a trochee.
By Musing on 2008 04 12
There is nothing I despise more than a contrary old person. I hope that by the time I am elderly, I outgrow this. You should poke him in the eye with one of the green straws.
By Amanda (Shamelessly Sassy) on 2008 04 12
Wow!!! I am actually speechless. Its unbelievable that people can be that rude…especially on a Saturday…especially at 6:30!
By Marjorie on 2008 04 12
HATE people who sit right where the only outlet in the place is.
Yesterday at lunch, there was only one other person in the wireless place and, though not using a computer, they chose the table with the outlet.
By Busy Mom on 2008 04 12
I hope that he gets heat stroke whilst writing his ‘poem’ and has to be rushed to the hospital. Old people suck…really really suck.
I hope that you aren’t having too many seizures under that flickering light.
By Faith on 2008 04 12
What a punk. I hope he chokes on a scone.
By RubiaLala on 2008 04 12
Yes, I am VERY proud of your verbiage.
OBTW: He’s a narcissist Yankee!
By Oma Flinger on 2008 04 12
That’s really horrid. Would it perhaps be possible to:
a- take the kids with you next time and set them up right next to him- perhaps while one is teething and the other is overtired and hungry?
b- take an extension cord
By Becky on 2008 04 12
You just made my day! LMAO!
By Domestic Divapalooza (Angela) on 2008 04 12
What time does Starbucks open?? Next Saturday, you need to get there before they open and be sitting there at “his” table when he walks in.
Then we will see what kind of poems this “poet” is writing.
By Beth_C on 2008 04 12
A twit. I like the idea of taking an extension cord and draping it over “his” table to reach the outlet.
By Deborah on 2008 04 12
I am so sorry.
I would just take an extension cord next time: that way if he is there you aren’t giving him the satisfaction of stooping to his level and joining in his idiocracy (is that even a word?—it should be if it isn’t). He isn’t worth your time.
My favorite quote from Night at the Museum (and I don’t even believe in evolution): “Who’s evolved? Who’s evolved?” You can rise above this, my friend: don’t slap the monkey.
By hilary on 2008 04 12
Brutally honest Monday? I think I’d be really good at that.
Moron saves seats at Starbucks? I would have poured my coffee on his poetic laptop…...
By JaniceNW on 2008 04 12
What a jerk. I would love to see his face if you got there first next Saturday and sat at “his” table.
By Diana on 2008 04 12
I second the suggestion to bring a teething baby next time. In fact, mine just so happens to be teething - you can borrow her!
By HollyH on 2008 04 12
something like that happened here to me here too! I sat at a outside SB table working on my stuff with my SB coffee… some guy showed up and told me that I’m sitting at HIS table! I looked at him and just smile (holding my laugh). He turned around and left.
I just simply don’t understand how / why people think they “have” a table (or a spot). This is SB, a coffee place, not a restaurant!
By kc on 2008 04 12
He’s just pissy because he’s old and his junk has shriveled up and resembles two raisins and a twig. I FART IN HIS GENERAL DIRECTION!
By Katie Kat on 2008 04 13
I’d say get a “Reserved” sign on a little metal post. Bribe the employee who opens the place to set it on HIS table. Then be sure to come in right after him, and say cheerfully “oh, I have that spot reserved (jerkface!)!”
Either that or bring a couple of sneezing, coughing kids with you next time and sit right BY HIM!
By Wendy on 2008 04 13
You know what would have made this a perfect post? If you had written it in iambic pentameter. Better yet, go full on sonnet with 14 lines and a rhyming couplet at the end.
Dude. I DARE YOU.
PS I totally want you to do a mamaspod on mama poets and writers. We could all submit pieces and then get to read them over the air. I’m good for it. After all, my participation in your podcasts seems to be becoming a regular thing.
By Elaine on 2008 04 13