Sorry this is a little longer than I planned, but I needed to get it written. I’m going to Chicago for the weekend (I’m driving there from Philadelphia-ain’t that kooky?) and will be pretty much off the grid until Monday. In fact, as you read this, my brother-you know him as ‘Phil’- and I will be evading speed traps somewhere between here and there. Don’t worry, I’ve got a delayed post for you of...something (I can’t remember) on Saturday. Or Sunday. Talk to you next week!
|"Okay, so my heart's outside of my chest. |
But, this is some great frikkin' coffee!!"
(Did I mention this was in the Bible Belt?)
|Sure, it's not as snazzy. |
But, you probably
won't need to call 911, either.
Thinking it was in my best interests to feed the caffeine monkey on her back (it was), I sallied forth (I like using this phrase, although it sounds kinda fem) in search of a decent cuppa Joe.
As I was in the Deep South (hey, get off my back, Alabama! I was born in Connecticut-the Old Dominion’s plenty deep enough for me!), I had my doubts. I wasn’t all that confident that I could find a quality brew in a town where dental hygiene was considered “uppity,” lawn flamingos were on the city seal, and the Ladies Room at Walmart had spittoons.
No, I was afraid that “Dark Roast Crayola Brown” was the best Mrs. Penwasser was going to get.
|The absence of pick-up trucks |
completely fooled me.
Not only was I shocked to find this Seattle-based coffee emporium in Dixie, I was floored to see actual people inside. And some of them weren’t wearing bib overalls.
Even though I was confident I could find a good cup of coffee inside (and an iced coffee-in frikkin’ February-for our daughter), I was a little reluctant to go in. After all, Starbucks always seemed a little snooty to me. And, the verbiage they make you use when ordering makes me feel stupid (although not nearly as stupid as I’d feel the next day with the damn toaster in Lynchburg).
But, since I figured how snobby could a Starbucks in southwest Virginia be, I decided to try it. How bad could it be?
When I got inside, I joined a huge queue (NOTE: British term for ‘line.’ Seriously, while most of your other words like ‘boot’, ‘torch’, ‘lift’, and ‘shag’ make sense, what the frik is up with ‘queue’? Why not just say ‘line’?). I sighed audibly as the line (screw queue) moved as fast as a fat guy on a treadmill (yes, this is a tease for the picture below).
|Her picture was on my desktop (don't ask),|
so I figured, why not?
As I looked at the menu board, though, I realized what was taking so long. This Starbucks was just like any other one I’d been to. No simple coffee shop selling simple coffee and bait, they had choices every bit as inscrutable as a store on 5th Avenue. No wonder nobody knew what to order.
|No, I wasn't looking at the coffee, either.|
NOTE: Customer accents, like pretty much any of this, are wildly exaggerated. Although I bet the southern accents have been beaten out of their employees.
“Good morning, sir. Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?”
“Mornin’, darlin’, yew shure can. Ahd lahk a large coffee, puhleeze.”
“Would that be a grande or a venti, sir?”
“No, ah want a plain ole coffee. None a that grande, venti, whatever crap.”
“No, sir, a venti is a large coffee.”
“Whut? Well, then wha didn’t yew say so? Hokay, shure, a venti.”
“A venti what, sir?”
“A venti coffee.”
“What kind of coffee, sir?”
|WTF?? All I want is a doughnut!|
“Whut...huh? Don’t y’all just have black?”
“Why certainly, sir.”
“Then, ah’ll have that’n. Got any doughnuts or such?”
“We have toasted biscotti, bran-pineapple-cranberry-kiwi-orange-passion fruit-SPAM--apricot muffins, Venezuelan Tea Biscuits, Lemon Parfait Squares, Yogurt and Bean Curd Cordials, Sesame Fancies, and....”
“Never mahnd, young lady, I reckon ah’ll just have me one of them venti coffees. Ah gotta get movin’. Gun shop’s openin’.”
|NOTE: Imported from California.|
“Okay, sir, that will be $7.75 for the coffee, plus tax. Sugar and stirrers are over there by the three successful looking people with laptops.”
Deciding that I wouldn’t be able to get my order until lunchtime, I beat feet out of Starbucks. Nothing was worth that.
Instead, I found a Dunkin’ Donuts in the next town of Possum Gulch (NOTE: No such place exists. But, I figured I’ve insulted Christiansburg enough. What’s one more time?).
|WARNING: Contains hot contents |
which may present a burn hazard.
Because it's coffee, dumbass!
Nothing fancy, but it did have just plain old Extra Large Black Coffees without any frilly nonsense.
And, more importantly, a dizzying selection of doughnuts chockfull full of sugar, lard, and the tastiest flavors known to man. Plus, you got a free test for Type II diabetes and an autographed picture of Oprah.
So, stick that in your toasted biscotti and smoke it.
PLEASE NOTE: I meant no disrespect to the south, Starbucks, Walmart, or gun shops in general. Because I’d love to live there, I really do like their coffee, you can get a great deal on hip waders and strawberry Twizzlers there if you don’t mind the toothless, and people with guns could seriously eff me up.
As for Dunkin’ Donuts? Oh, yeah, I love me some Dunkin’ Donuts.
Ya know, now that I look at this, he may be all naked. And all man. Urp...
|I'll have a dozen glazed with a Diet Coke. |
Please don't hate me because I have breasts.
And possibly a penis.