Starbucks, 8:32 p.m. – Halloween is when the old people come out to play

This old man with his cell phone holder swinging on a carabiner clip just walked into the Starbucks. Hmm. He’s got on blue jeans and a blue check shirt. Ordered a small coffee and now he’s gone. No. Wait. He’s making a stop at the condiment bar. NOW he’s gone.

Really. I’m addicted to the Starbucks because there is no other place to get a triple venti raspberry white chocolate mocha unless I make it. You can get a cup of coffee at any gas station. Point of fact, there’s one right across the corner.

Sadly, that old man may well be the highlight of tonight’s 21 minutes. There’s me, myself and three very bored baristas up in here.

Some slow jazz is wailing on the speakers, but I can’t hear it for the sounds of the two baristas flirting behind the coffee bar. Malebux is flirting with Femalebux. The clanging of the blender in the sink is apparently a metaphor for their love. I can hear the thumping noise of various things being cleaned and the noise of mats being drug around. Interesting.

Seventeen minutes later.

One of the off-duty baristas is in to argue about her hours. “But I need more money,” I can hear her say.

Now she wants to chat with me because she has nothing else to do and I guess I don’t look busy enough. Computer? Check. Looking DOWN at computer? Check. Typing about your stained orange shirt that makes you look like a decaying pumpkin? Check. Not busy? Not checked.

Twenty-two minutes later. Now the manager of the Starbucks joins in this friendly pow-wow, because he is interested in my MacBook. Buy a Mac people. Buy a Mac.

There have been two customers. I have been trying to write, but it seems rude to ignore the friendly baristas, especially when it might lead to free coffee later.

There was a grand and glorious WOACA incident during the conversational fun. This fleshy woman came inside wearing black pants and a ratty navy tee. She lumbers up to the register, is greeted and orders a drip coffee. The barista asks if she would like a pastry to go with that. Upsell is the name of the game in retail.

Her response? “Only if you’re going to throw it away.” O-kaaaaay. Because this is a marketplace and we all bargain for Starbucks pastries.

It’s 8 p.m. – and the Starbucks stays open until 10 p.m. But the barista gives her a free doughnut anyway. She gets the coffee and leaves.

When the WOACA xleaves, he comes over to me and says “I hate people like that.” You know I asked for the dirt.

So what did she do? “She paid for the coffee with two singles. I gave her a free doughnut and she didn’t even bother to throw the change into the tip jar.”

How much you want to bet she’ll never get anything for free at this Starbucks again? Hey lady - karma is a cruel mistress. Check your tires in the morning.

OK. There is history being made in the Starbucks tonight. Both baristas just went outside to smoke. I’m still sitting in the corner writing. They both know me, so they looked over, said “Don’t steal anything, we’re watching,” then lit up.

I don’t know whether to applaud that I’m trusted or cry in shame that they just sit outside the front door and smoke. Coffee and cigarettes. They go so well together.

There is some really funky jazz going right now. It’s peppy, with a trumpet, some good piano action and maybe a trombone. I wish I knew how to play the piano – especially jazz piano.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this particular Starbucks this still. This is usually one of the busiest spots in the city. If I close my eyes and extend my senses, I get the soft hum of the ice freezer and the lower hurrrrrr of the drip coffee urn.

HELLO ACTION. Old people sighting at 11 o’clock.

Ancient frail and withered old people. An old man so reedy he can barely open the door peeks in; the baristas are so happy to see him they yell “Happy Halloweens” from behind the bar. I think it scares the old man.

The head of his cane is carved like a seahorse. That’s unique. His wife has some old-lady pants in a seafoam check. She lives high off the hog. I can see some granny fat hanging off her arms and through the seams of her thin white short sleeve shirt.

Wow. She’s giving me a dirty, dirty, dirty look because I’m sitting in one of the plush chairs. Well, there are three more available. It’s not like I put down roots and a flag over here. Deal.

Now Malebux is flirting hot and heavy with these two skanky hooker types that aren’t even in costume. Ohh. Someone is showing someone else camera-phone pictures. Do I smell free pastry? You bet I do.

They both have on blue jeans – which is fine in and of itself. It’s the hair that bothers me. One is a bottle-blonde of a particularly “I did this at home” bent. I can tell because her hair looks completely fried. The texture looks like straw. She has split ends too.

The other one has some atrocious blonde highlights and enough product in her hair to style a fashion show. I am also not loving her super-clunky coral and seashell bangle earrings. They’re just too heavy on her petite frame. I just don’t get why she thinks this is a good look.

Anyway.

There’s a cute boy coming in now. Basic black tee and a pair of khaki pants. Too bad my time is up. Maybe I’ll go flirt. O hai, Mr. tall, dark and handsome.

Peace out.