For a number of years, since Starbucks first flashed on the Appleton scene, I have fostered disdain for what I deemed undeserved success.
Though I was as thrilled as any other kid from the boondocks to experience my first McDonald’s burger in the mid-60s, it didn’t take me long to realize I preferred diversity over consistency.
I remember my joy in discovering the “Little Pink Restaurant” in Wisconsin Rapids in the late-60s, where the weary gray-haired owner baked her bread every morning before even the rooster knew it was a new day. Her legs bound in support hose, the Little Pink proprietor sliced that bread at two-inch intervals faster than you could count the number of times her arms flapped.
And my delight in the mid 80s at discovering the Quonset hut in Appleton known as the “Queen Bee” (then on Wisconsin Ave) was equally sincere.
The time I wandered into a truck stop in Small-town-Alabama and found my feet firmly planted on God’s own terra firma, I was overcome with anticipation as I waited for my butter burger to be wrapped in waxed paper to go. Give me a mud floor any day for that level of satisfaction.
But I digress. I avoided Starbucks all those years because their coffee gives me morning sickness, the yuppie prices and misuse of the word “tall” annoy me, and they were stingy about WiFi to boot. “Maybe you can get by with that in Seattle,” I thought, where ducking in out of the rain was value-added, “but in my town I’m for ratty upholstery and half-price, day-old bakery.”
(The following confession feels a little like admitting to my literature professor that although his class has turned me on to Balzac, I’m not about to stop watching “Grey’s Anatomy” on DVD every night for two hours. Meredith and George and Christina are my friends; I find myself wanting to give them a call mid-morning to see who’s bopping whom and if any truly bizarre medical cases have shown up yet that day.)
Again I ramble, but my message is this: Ever since learning about Starbuck’s oatmeal with dried fruit and nuts for $2.50, free parking without time limits and no-strings-attached WiFi, I have totally caved.
Acoca Coffee and Harmony Café on College Ave, if you’re reading this, I promise to keep you both high on my list of favorites, but right now the oatmeal at Starbucks is having a curious effect on my coffee-shop scruples.
LOL Mary; funny how that happens; caving I mean. I've experienced many "cavings" these past few years. More specifically, my hair first and foremost. I have very curly hair and having grown up in the late '60's early '70's, I've yearned for "Cher hair". Stick straight, parted down the middle, moving with the wind when the car windows are down. No one was more happy then me with the invention of big barreled curing irons and more recently, straightening irons. Well no more. Carole King hair it is for me from now on. And one more "caving" that comes to mind. How I dress. In my previous life, I was conservative. Give me a dark pant suit or give me death. No femininity or bright colors for this girl. I had to blend in with the boys I thought in order to succeed and not draw attention to my gender. Well no more; my moto now is "anything goes". The more colorful, the more contemporary, the more comfortable, the better. Yahoo. Age does have its benefits. A good write once again my friend. Peg S.
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