Please Shoot This Goat May 21, 2007
Posted by Bobby in college, events occuring at a local Starbucks, irony, life.add a comment
I need to stop going to the Starbucks in Isla Vista, for my own personal safety. There is an aura of premature death surrounding the place. Today I saw a girl sitting on a table outside with a Venti sized caffeinated beverage, several cans of beer, and a cigarette. She was alternating between the three, playing Survivor the home game so to speak. Odds are 3:1 that the heart, liver, and lungs will all go at once.
After leaving that ugly sight behind, a strange homeless looking man walked through the door to Starbucks right after me (i.e. I held the door open for him). Following closely behind, on a makeshift leash, was a goat. The preppy baristas were naturally terrified by this sight and proceeded to ask the man to leave. This ignited a “surprisingly” passionate debate over the man’s right to be served. I broke my previously stated English Writing Rules and placed “surprisingly” in quotes since these strange political/social debates seem to spring up everywhere now. They’re as normal as the goat.
If you’ve read some of my previous entries, pet goats are not at all uncommon in Isla Vista. Take every rule of civilized society ingrained in your mind, and reverse it. At the same time, imagine 3000 noises coming out of a stereo speaker simultaneously with lots of feedback. Now make yourself really sad by reminiscing over a tragic event, like the death of a beloved pet. Got it? Good, that’s a weekend evening in Isla Vista and I just saved you the trouble of coming up here to see it for yourself. To experience late night/early morning Isla Vista, close your eyes and spin around in circles really fast for 5 minutes, then go to sleep.
Anyway, goats. Several annoying Universal Justice For All-types eventually convinced the baristas to serve the homeless guy, who proceeded to order a doubleshot latte… for the goat. Not joking. He walked outside, sat at a table across from the girl who is going to die by age 25, and poured the drink into a little bowl. The goat started drinking it happily.
While walking by this sight, I heard the homeless man muttering obscenities to the goat. It sounded like stalker/rapist language. “ooo there there girl, drink that up. yeaahhhh do that.” “ahh thats good isn’t it. yeahhh it is.” “do you like the gift that daddy just bought you. yeahhh you do.” Apparently goats dig Starbucks.
Thank God I decided to walk a little slower to listen in, because I was still within earshot when I suddenly heard the substance indulgence girl tell the homeless man “Stop. That stuff probably isn’t very good for the goat.” Chuckle.
I’m Now a Barista February 23, 2007
Posted by Bobby in college, events occuring at a local Starbucks, romance.add a comment
Yesterday I completed one of the most masculine tasks known to man… I made my own latte.
Ok ok, anyone can just push a button and wait for a machine to spit out liqid oil into a cup, but I’ve got secrets. Special ingredients, special ways of mixing, fluid proportions, etc. The main reason I embarked on this endeavor was that I’m really fed up with waiting 30 minutes for a beverage at the ONE Starbucks in the Isla Vista/UCSB area.
The workers at places like Starbucks, Jamba Juice, and Coffee Bean have this nasty habit when the stores get a little crowded: They start taking people’s money faster than they can prepare the beverages. This results in speeding through the cashier’s line in about 5 minutes, only to end up waiting 20+ minutes for your drink to actually be presented. As I mentioned before, UCSB has ONE Starbucks and ONE Jamba Juice. Tommorrow I’m gonna learn how to make my own sherbert-dominated smoothie.
I’ve had a drink spilled on me at a Starbucks before. A girl literally power-walked right into me and spilled a Peppermint Mocha on my shirt. It was hot. And I’m not talking about the coffee. Right after it happened, she yelped “I’m sorry!” and gently turned her head sideways, her cerulean eyes glistening under the aurora of the store lighting. Then, in slow motion, her hair did that thing where it swoops over the right shoulder, falls forward and back towards the center while she lightly exhales and does that open-mouthed orgasm face, swoops over the left shoulder, then falls back to normal while she develops a subtle grin. Then she turned around and gracefully meandered outside into the rain.
I got kinda sad since Girl had a way hep style, so I sulked in the rain and through the snow uphill both ways back to my dorm, where I sulked by a fireplace because I was really cold from walking in the snow/rain. And the glow of the fire reminded me of the glow in Girl’s teeth when she smiled and laughed, and I felt like going with her to stores and saying nice things like “no your butt does not look fat in those pants!” and “that blouse really brings out your eyeballs!” Then we’d share an Icee and mix up the straws sometimes, and she would say romantic things like “it’s like we’re kissing but we’re only exchanging saliva!”
What I didn’t know was that Girl had been following me home. I happened to walk outside just as she arrived. When I saw Girl I first felt nauseous, and then I felt anorexic, and then I felt bulimic, but before I could say anything/vomit, she handed me a White Chocolate Mocha from Starbucks and apologized again for spilling coffee all over me. Then she sped off on her bike. I’ll never see her again, but hey, we shared a special moment together.
If I ever see her in the dining commons… I’m totally making her a latte.
