My mom lives in an upper class neighborhood. Most of the people who live here are white. That in itself is not a crime- obviously…
I stayed at my mom’s house last night and just went to the nearest Starbucks. I found a parking spot next to a mail man who was just chilling in his mail man ride- drinking Starbucks. I got to the door and saw maybe a 13-year-old girl, hair pulled back perfectly, earrings, some sweater that might have said something cute, etc. She had two drinks in her hands, so I grabbed the door and held it wide open from outside the store.
The girl walked right on by me with zero acknowledgement that I was even there. Whatever. Kids- they obviously have a lot to learn and they tend to be abstract thinkers, even in public places. I can live with that/I’m glad they are at least thinking.
There is a lot to think about.
As I start to pivot around the door that I’m holding open, like Shaq on the low post about to take a bunny (Shaq on the Celtics maybe), the girl’s grandma gets a head of steam and comes out behind her, drink in hand.
The grandma also has a sweater on, but it’s age appropriate. And her earrings are no doubt worth more than my car. She’s got tunnel vision on the space in front of her. Whatever. People get super self-absorbed as they get older. Rich white grandmas gonna rich white grandma imo.
I take a deep breath and prepare to go to the hoop again/enter goddamn Starbucks. A Persianish, 40ish dude comes over from the weak side. He also wants to exit the coffee house with no hands- and he’s not even holding a drink somehow. Feeling like I may never get to the rack/my morning fuel, I decide to go anyways. Despite a little shoulder bump (oops) this dude also exits the premises with zero awareness of me or anyone else in the world/completely transfixed on the few feet of open space directly in front of him.
What the fuck are they serving at this Starbucks? Why all the zombies? Is the government behind this? Aliens? Someone else?
Inside the store, white people everywhere, keeping to themselves, reading newspapers (real ones), stirring shit into their coffees, etc… The kid who gives me my Venti black coffee is chill, but the girl who has to get Sirachi for me for my fake healthy breakfast (they offered Sirachi when I got it at goat Starbucks- the drive-thru one on Tropicana in Vegas, next to Canes)- she looks like someone just stole her puppy. She has the customer service game of a first year poker pro in Vegas who just moved from wherever after running like God for a few months. Whatever.
I get my morning fuel and head towards the exit. A 60-year-old Mark Eaton is there protecting the paint/just standing in front of the door looking at his goddamn watch lol.
“Excuse me,” I say, in a way that could be interpreted many ways if anyone was paying attention.
Mark doesn’t really move so I just euro-step around him and then use my ass to open the door like Charles Barkley on the Sixers…
Would I have noticed all the cringeworthy behavior at Starbucks had I not woken up in a bad mood? Would I have texted my sister, “If u do bad things in your life u get sent to Starbucks on pomerado and rb road when u die”?
Would I have woken up in a bad mood had the Internet worked last night/had I been able to watch the Jazz fuck up the Thunder, despite Russell Westbrook being one of the most all heart mother fuckers to ever play the game? What about if the bath I drew was clear water- not yellow for some weird reason? What if it didn’t leak through the ceiling and onto the floor downstairs?
What if I hadn’t mismanaged my money into poverty despite making heaps of it every year except for the last one? What if it hadn’t been 9 billion years since I last got laid? What if I didn’t wake up with potentially a little cold? What if the first thing I saw this morning wasn’t my goddamn belly- the one that hasn’t gone away despite working out daily and eating
healthy better than I used to?
What if when I walked into the kitchen last night- a house sitter/homeless son/step-son in town to see his kids, I didn’t see pictures of my mom’s remarried kids (they are amazing kids and I love them) on the counter, but no pictures of her first marriage kids (my older brother and me)?
Sure, all those things contributed. They no doubt skewed my perception of the events that took place when I got to Starbucks in a negative way. And 100% I need to not be a baby about the hole I’m trying to climb out of/my childhood/etc. But guess what?
Perception IS reality. And my perception is that all you Rancho Bernardo road Starbucks patrons who don’t acknowledge the rest of the world, much less the idiot standing outside holding the door open for you, y’all suck a dick. A big one.
(closes laptop, takes a swig of his delicious coffee, gets ready to go see his kids and have them spend the night with him for the first time in months/hopes they don’t mind yellow water and no TV)
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