Here I sit, in a slowly depopulating parking lot outside a wayward Starbucks Coffee shop. The shop will close soon, but I managed to stop and get my One Day Only savings of fifty percent off a hand crafted espresso beverage, reducing the price to something approaching a reasonable markup for the drink.
It’s a gingerbread latte. I’m kind of iffy on the gingerbread flavor, but they are soon to close down the holiday side of the coffee shop and I figure it’s now or never for trying the specialty drink. It has molasses, REAL molasses, drizzled on top, and I cannot decide if that’s a feature or a bug. (Really undecided on the taste of straight up molasses, as well — ever since playing Candy Land as a child, I’ve possessed a cautious dislike of the stuff.)
We made this special stop to get my special bonus — which, no less, required a special double left turn due to my ‘special’ driving skills — and now here I sit with a mediocre beverage in a car that quit working.
There is no indication of why it’s not working, no special reason. In fact, it probably would be considered a ‘special’ car (for my family) if it managed to go six months without suffering some grave and random disfunction.
But it happened today, when I was planning on taking my half-off hand crafted beverage home and slurping through my writing for the day.
My initial reaction is to rail against the circumstance — why me? why my car? why now?
Instead, I’m writing this.
It helps that I have a wife in possession of nigh-infinite patience and understanding. She raised no objection when I pulled out my iPad and began tap tap tapping away at my virtual keyboard — a skill which I ought to develop, but I suspect I am in the nineteenth percentile in regards to effective usage of the esoteric word transference method.
In his, I am certain I could find a valuable life lesson, a way to grow as a person if I could but overcome my frustration with circumstance. I mean, does it say nothing that my inclination is to write out my frustrations rather than beat with my fists until I run out of energy and / or a solution presents itself?
Yes, that probably does speak to my personal growth, but still I linger on the inescapable shiftiness of it all.
Perhaps that means I’m still human.
Good to see that I didn’t ascend to the next plane of existence while I wasn’t looking. Wouldn’t THAT be embarrassing?
“Hello chums, it seems I took a wrong turn somewhere back at the coffee shop, I was wondering if it would be too much trouble for me to ask you to direct me to the bathroom?”
Of course, it would be after that when I discover that bladders are a thing of the past life and that mere implication of our former scatological tendencies is nigh heresy, especially to a stranger who has no reason to put up with your shit.
Assuming that the ascended being is one of pure energy, as the cultural keystone Stargate SG-1 (from which we may ascertain much truth and cool space battles) purports, does said enlightened one need to be concerned with waste removal? I mean, we already have in our vernacular concepts such as ‘bad energy,’ is it too much a stretch to think that an energy-based being might need to expel any negative energy it acquired while divining the secrets of the cosmos?
Such ponderings do I ponder, for it is a greater use of my mental faculties than whining about my present circumstance. My wife has been sent along her way, whisked to the house so that she may go through this ordeal only remotely and so that our kitten may not be lonely for any longer than necessary.
In the car, in the dark, I wait, and write this essay which itself confesses to be about not much at all, and I feel better. Ever so slightly better, but better.
It is nice to remember (or re-learn would perhaps be the better term) that my writing can serve a therapeutic role for myself, in addition to the entertaining and thought-provoking I hope to do for others.
Aha! At last I have determined the lesson which I may take forward from this treacherous night and apply to any similar situations in the future should they arise, and hope to pass on the knowledge to others:
Unless you just really love gingerbread, people, pass on the gingerbread latte at Starbucks. It’s kinda meh.