There is a distinct aroma in the air. The scent is a robust odor that smells like the home of an elderly person. The aroma is not unpleasant. Starbucks is busy. It is in a state of constant motion. This flux is like a pulse. People come. People go. They order, some stay, most leave, hurrying off to this and that. Like a train station, this coffee shop is a place of transit. People are unaware they are being observed and recorded, that their subconscious motions, their being, is being monitored and recorded. Where a person’s gaze rests for an instant, becomes the world. In this moment the apt metaphor for this place in time, this view of the world is the shuffle setting on a music player.
A woman holding a small child enters. She squints at the menu covering the anterior wall. She is both in the line and outside of it. The incoming people, wanting to be polite, cue up behind her. Everyone in front of her have had their order taken. The barista, a blonde girl who is maybe in her late teens, makes eye contact with her.
“Hi, what can I get you?” she asks the woman. She holds her child like an oversized doll. He is quiet and stares in front of him. He is maybe two years old, but he could be younger. It is hard to tell.
The mother vacillates, and finally says, “I’ll just have a venti house coffee.” She seems unsatisfied with this decision, but the blonde barista rings it in and she shuffles the child to her other hip while she retrieves her wallet from the purse that was sandwiched in-between her and her son.
There is a trend that emerges as more people come and go. Starbucks instead
of having normal sizes, such as small/medium/large, has their own nomenclature
for their sizes. People, even though they have used these sizes for a decade, struggle to correctly place the sizes they want. Next to the blonde barista is an older man. He has a speckled moustache and wears thick glasses. His hair and dress suggest a younger person. He is maybe forty years old, but appears younger. Still, his speckled gray hairs give him a way.
The ambient music is a mixture of easy listening and singer songwriter acoustic music. “Letter to a Young Poet” by Roma di Luna from her album “Find Your Way Home” comes on the loudspeakers. Subconsciously people sway and tap their foot to this easy melody. “What happened to your heart,” the song sings.
On the other side of the baristas counter a half-dozen students (presumably) huddle over laptops. Apple computers, with their ubiquitous aluminum casing outnumber the two PCs. A man is lost in a Kindle. There is a woman flipping through a magazine. Next to her is an empty coffee cup and a half eaten pastry.
Afterwards when she attempts to leave she will drop the magazine on the floor and look up to see if anyone was noticing her. She wears red high heels and a purple blouse.
In the afternoon, after five pm when most people are released from their work, the place will speed up and become much busier. Most of the chairs in the seating area become full. The line consists of almost a dozen people and the two baristas seem to gain a newfound energy as they take orders and make for people what they desire.
There is a loud trio of three girls in the back of the line. Their conversation is audible for anyone in the coffee shop. They are talking about a boy. One of them insists that one of the other girls has a crush on him but she demurs to that. The girls are middle school aged and one with sleek black hair is a full head taller than her two companions. Later, when it is their turn in line each of them orders an elaborate concoction with whip cream and sprinkles. Giggling, they take a seat in the far corner at a table that has just cleared up.
Across from them a man looks annoyed. He glances at them and rolls his eyes before closing his book and walking to the door. At 7pm the busy bustle that has descended in the café wanes and returns to the slower pace that existed a few hours previously. At different periods one of the baristas will come emerge from the back counter and come to clear tables that have been left with empty coffee cups, plates, paper, and other detritus from clients who have come and gone.
For the first time in a while, there is no one cuing up for more coffee. The blonde woman behind the counter swinger her arms and makes small chat with the man. They give each other smiles and seem to have a healthy relationship.
The metaphor of shuffle remains. Just as an iPod shuffles randomly from song to song, there is no way to predict the emerging rhythm of Starbucks.
