Adventures in Suburbia, Part II: Attack of the Café Clones
By Scott '2Pak' Sugars
||Do you know what a decanter is?
||Something to pour coffee.
||It's a pot. Just a coffee pot. Now why do guys like you and I know what a decanter is? Is this
essential to our survival in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word? No. What are we then?
||I don't know…consumers?
||Right. We are consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession.
My friend and I went to a movie the other night. A pretty good movie, but both of
us agreed that we had seen better. Since it wasn't quite my bedtime, I suggested going for a coffee.
Why not? Spend a little more time with my best friend, and do some research at the same time.
We ended up at Timothy's.
We ended up in Hell.
Timothy's - where book-club members meet, because a regular Tim Horton's would
be slumming. Where the daily newspaper has been replaced by issues of Golf Digest and Chatelaine and
donuts replaced by biscotti. First I had to learn French to order a coffee, now I have to learn Italian
to order desert? We approached the counter to order when we were informed by the 'Tommy Girl' that they
were closing in 5 minutes.
"You close at ten o'clock?" I asked. What kind of coffee shop closes at ten?
"Yeah, um…sorry, um…did you want something to go?"
Not wanting to hear another inflection, my friend and I left.
Okay, plan B. My friend suggests going to Starbucks. I'm thinking, great - the fast food of coffee.
Oh…Why not? Its not like it was a Sunday afternoon…but it was still suburbia.
I don't think I have ever seen so many turtlenecks in my life. The place was wall-to-wall sideburns
with Le Chateau carpeting. I don't even fit in with people my own age. My friend started to laugh.
"This is killing you, isn't it?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah. I mean, look at them. You'd think they would have
called each other before leaving the house so they wouldn't be wearing the same clothes."
"Who are you talking about?"
"I don't know. They all look the same! Look at them. Justin and Brittany clones!" Upon closer inspection
I notice that they travel in groups of no less than 4. One boy for every girl. Then I notice that the guys
only talk with the other guys, the girls only with the other girls. Jesus! It's like a high school dance.
I was waiting for them to play Stairway to Heaven, so I'd know when I could go home.
I had ordered the usual, a grande mocha java, and my friend ordered a tea. We sat down, talked about music,
movies, and our jobs. We ordered another round, and my friend asked me what exactly a grande mocha java is.
"How the hell should I know? Do I look like I'm from Seattle?"