Friday, October 26, 2007

Barnes & Noble, 9:13 p.m. - Hooker-lookers and the Hershey Grannies are out in force

So this is where the literati of town hang out. The place is slamming tonight. There are exactly two seats open at the in-store Starbucks cafe and then I had to cadge a chair from a hostile gentleman with seaman's whiskers to slide under one of those vacant mesas for myself.

The crowd is only growing. A group of teenagers or early college age kids just walked up. They've got a couple cans of Red Bull and both girls have humongous purses. They're holding a diplomatic conference worth of Condi Rice and a boatload of Israeli diplomats. If only it weren't accompanied by a similar raftload of hair flips, "Girl, I knows" and the like.

The background noise level is astounding. There's the noise of the coffee bar. *Whir* *Grind* *Blend* There's the noise of about 15 chairs and tables in constant motion, scraping, moving, sliding. There's glassware, coffee cups, spoons, forks and plates. Think tiny restaurant filled with twenty-seven of your closest friends talking at the top of their lungs. Then cut the space in half.

Don't forget we're backed onto a huge retail bookstore, right next to the magazine racks. There are people browsing, moving, shuffling papers.

There's an incredibly loud man yakking at the top of his lungs somewhere over to my right. I'm trying not to look up. He's haggling with the baristas for something. "HOW ARE YOU DOING? HOW'S THE COFFEE TONIGHT?" Damn. If you know them, just say so. No need to yell. Everybody up in here knows how you're doing tonight.

The visual clutter of a Barnes & Noble is amazing. I realize this is a retail space, but I've never actually stopped to think about how incredibly crammed with junk every single line of sight is with messages imploring me to BUY BUY BUY.

The retail creep extends even into the coffee cafe space. There are five six-foot-tall racks of merchandise extending through to the coffee condiment bar. One is selling Harry & David chocolates. The next sells B&N branded coffee mugs and tumblers. The next is selling some god-awful audio books that some unhappy parent is sure to receive as a gift come Christmas morning. Then, we've got the tea display and finally a rack of magazines - HELLO, People, Us Weekly, In Style, Star, Entertainment Weekly - rags that frankly don't need the exposure.

There is barely room for the customer in all this. I can almost feel the breath of Mr. Whiskers right behind me. He had a stack of books on his table and looked to be settling in for a nice read. I'm sure he's got his reasons for hanging out alone at the Barnes & Noble on a Friday night. Maybe his wife died. Maybe he's lonely. Maybe his lover died. Maybe he just can't afford $19.95 for a hardback version of "An Assault on Reason."

The girl at table next to me just clicked open her laptop. She is trying to purchase the crappy AT&T/B&N Wayport Internet Access. That is going to run her $3.99 for a two-hour session or $19.99 a month. Good luck with that. She's got on a nice black top and jeans and black flip flops. The gold chain around her neck is way too large, going right down to somewhere in the area of her navel. I don't like it.

What I do like on her in the way of her accessories is sitting across the table from her. Mr. Boyfriend. Latin, faded jeans. Black shirt worn over a white shirt. Tall, dark and handsome. He's got two of those "wear it for a cause" plastic bracelets on. Yellow and dark blue. No clue what those mean.

The girlfriend is still having issues trying to pay for Internet access. She huffing and slapping the credit card around and throwing her purse into her lap. Now she's got one finger held up to her temple and is staring at the screen with a mean look. If that computer were a person, it would seriously be running for its life.

The old people contingent here is amazing. There's one old bird that looks just like a Hershey kiss candy (thin at the top with a turkey neck and an expandable bottom), except she has a big fluff of screwy blonde hair on top.

Despite the fact that we're in the middle of a cool snap, half the planet seems to be ordering blended ice drinks. The noise from the blender is driving me seriously insane. *whir* *whir* *whir*

I get bits and pieces from about eight different conversations but can't really sort any of them out.

Hershey Granny ran out to get a magazine and trip-trapped back to her table. It's even worse than I thought. She's got on thigh-length brown shorts and turquoise earrings. Her hair is screwed up on top of her head with a huge black butterfly clip.

Let this be a lesson to you all. Never go out in public in anything you would not be comfortable with someone fugging you on!

The action at the coffee bar is slowing down. Two college-age hooker-lookers in matching red and blue sweater vests pulled over Banana Republic button-downs and some flip flops just walked out. I can actually hear the jazz on the speakers now. It is making a valiant effort to cut through the din.

My time is up. Thank you and good night.

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