I've been dying to express how completely unfit I am for the atmosphere in Starbucks. First of all, I do not drink coffee... or tea, or hot cocoa, or anything else that might be considered "grande," "latte," etc. I do indulge in a low-fat raspberry sunshine muffin once in a while, but they didn't offer that treat today. So I'm here with my homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I ordered an apple juice to be polite. I'm pretty sure this isn't the pattern of a typical Starbucks customer, but whatever. I thought I'd try doing no-brainer tasks like downloading music, organizing files (I only mention that one because it sounds important), g-chatting, habitually checking my email, and writing the longest to-do list possible (one that in the past has shamelessly included lines like "buy a headband," and "tweeze eyebrows") away from the confinement of my quiet, microscopic studio apartment. I thought this might make me feel like I had "done something" with my day off. The others are quietly studying from textbooks or probably booking vacations on their laptops. I had immense anxiety over finding an outlet for mine. I am unfit for this-- I've gotten up twice to get a napkin, once to throw away a cup, and I've changed my seat twice since I arrived. But as I write wittingly about the awkwardness that is me inside Starbucks, National Grid has just plopped themselves into a hole outside the front door to this money-sucking caffienator. They are jackhammering the side of the road closest to us and a yellow Deere dirt-pick-up-thing with Ludacris (the rapper not the adjective)-style hydraulics is banging repeatedly against the ground. I don't know much about utilities or operating heavy machinery but it seems as though banging the ground isn't even the intended use for that vehicle. The irony. Now all of those intensely concentrated people I envied as I walked in merely fifteen minutes ago seem upset and shifty, and I feel comfortable.
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