The Battle of Starbucks

As a graduate student, I spent a lot of time reading. In fact, that’s pretty much all I did. I read, and read, and eat, and read; occasionally I made tea or fell asleep on my research. To break up the monotony, I liked to change study locations. Cafes and coffee shops are great places to work because they’re usually cozy, they smell nice, and there are people around; when I read at a coffee shop, I can pretend to be a part of normal society again. I am convinced that these places are what keep English graduate students from turning into nervous, twitchy, socially-retarded silverfish.

One particular day, I arrived at Starbucks hoping to curl up in one of my favorite reading chairs. There are only two of them and they can be hard to claim, but they’re definitely worth the effort. These chairs are firm, but not hard, with high arms and plenty of room to stretch out a bit. Plus, they’re located in an out-of-the way alcove, so while there’s enough traffic that passes by to keep you from feeling isolated, there’s not enough to disrupt your flow.

When I arrived, two men had already claimed my chairs. Disgruntled, I ordered my tea and sat at a table opposite them, hoping my seething glare would communicate that they needed to move—NOW. But the men remained, oblivious.

I began my work, keeping one eye on my enemies. The first man was juggling a fancy phone, his laptop, and a notebook that he scribbled on using five differently-colored pens. It all looked very complex. Begrudgingly, I conceded that, as stressed as he looked, his work might warrant a great chair. Maybe.

The second man was playing around with his netbook. I could tell by his glazed look that he was procrastinating; we grad students are experts on procrastination in its various forms. Not much is needed for procrastination, and certainly one should not waste a valuable reading chair for such. To do so is selfish. There are those around who genuinely need a great reading chair as they chug through mountains of academic verbal posturing. Wasting a great reading chair is like using a high-end sports car to drive to the grocery store, or wearing a tux to Waffle House, or eating Thanksgiving dinner in front of starving orphans in a concentration camp. Procrastinating in a great reading chair is an activity of the sadist.

Bravely, I struggled through my work, my pain made more acute every moment by that man’s selfishness. Please, I thought, becoming desperate. Please just move. I noticed a venti-sized beverage on the table next to him. It was almost empty, and I could see smears of caramel here and there along the inside of the cup and oozing through the ice. Hope dawned in my breast. A drink that size must contain mountains of sugar, not to mention the twenty-four ounces of sludge-colored liquid. This man has got to pee sometime soon. When he moves, I’ll seize the chair. I’m cute and youthful. If he objects, I’ll play dumb and pout. Besides, possession is nine-tenths of the law.

I waited, reading and underlining mechanically, my eyes focused on the cozy alcove. Unfortunately, Mr. Transformer-skin-on-my-nifty-netbook must have had a bladder the size of Brazil. My heart sank within me.

Finally, an hour-and-a-half after my arrival, I saw him close his netbook. Slowly he got to his feet to throw away his trash. In a flash I had my possessions in hand, poised to pounce. He had barely lifted his bookbag from the floor when I streaked past him and triumphantly seized the chair. He stared at me, startled, but I ignored him.

The remaining man glanced at me and dropped his five pens. He looked at me uneasily as I kicked off my shoes and curled up like a cat. I smiled at him. I was feeling generous as I arranged my books and research around me. My patience had been rewarded; all was right with the world. My concentration would be unbroken, my thoughts pure genius.

I sighed contentment. Then I unzipped my bookbag, pulled out my laptop—and checked Facebook.