"Just a cup of coffee" or "The demise of my social consciousness"

"You shot my dog and then made him into meatloaf and made me eat it."
That's what the expression on my face seemed to say. She took my money, yelled out, "Grande latte," and said politely to my scowling face, "You have a great weekend!" She seemed to mean it. I wanted to cry. I tried to respond with a friendly, "You too" but I think she could tell that I really wanted to say, "I hate you Starbucks and all the friendly, benefit and health care bestowed baristas. I hate that you are the only real coffee place within walking distance of where I live. I hate that you have comfortable seats and pleasant music and people (artists even) having lively conversations or tapping away at computers or just enjoying a scone. I hate that you are my new favorite place to hang out in West Palm Beach."

Gasp. Kerthunk. Those are the sounds of everyone who knows me and my decade long anti-Starbucks stance fainting and hitting the ground. Hard. So basically everyone who is reading this. Brush yourself off, rub your eyes, close that gaping mouth of yours and read on.

So how could I walk into my least favorite corporate establishment of all time? I wanted to get out of the apartment, I was craving a latte (not grande, medium, dammit. Just say medium!), I didn't want to go to a restaurant and feel weird about pulling out my computer. There are kava shops around but I don't like sleep inducing medicinally tasting kava and since I live above one such shop I am sick of listening to the people who hang out at kava shops. There are bars that would gladly take my drink order at 3pm but do I really need to become one of those writers that is sloshed by 5pm just because she wants to get out of the apartment? (Hmm. Could be fun. For about a week before my body revolts and the diuretic properties of beer don't allow me out of the apartment for days)

So here I am sipping a latte. For those of you who don't know about my vitriolic relationship with the mermaid, let me just say it started with my intimate knowledge of half the coffeehouses in San Diego: Livingroom, Pannikin, 976, Zanzibar, Claire de Lune. The now defunct cafe Vienna, Cafe Bazaam, the Library (now all with a Starbucks within a block of those former great coffeehouses). I used to spend almost every night in high school studying on a shabby couch or at a mismatched slightly wobbly table, pencil threaded through my long brown hair.

Starbucks didn't get really big until I was in college and could stand on certain corners in New York City and see three of them. Three! I resisted and went to Alt.coffee and my friendly local corner coffee-cart ("Light and sweet, please"). I went to Reverend Billy shows and praised his anti-consumerism message with his 'church of stop shopping.' I refused free mermaid embossed gift cards for Christmas and always suggested alternatives to the chain when possible. I've only had Starbucks about a half dozen times in my life.

Now make that seven.

Will I come back to this Starbucks after this slight nausea wears off? Will the catchy music and air conditioning and smell of burnt coffee and free wifi lure me back? Or will I do as I have done before and trek the two miles in the summer heat to get to the closest indie coffeehouse? Have my morals completely collapsed? Am I becoming old and unopinionated/complacent? Are my feelings about Walmart massacring Main Streets in small towns in America going to go by the wayside next?

Or shall I choose to interpret what Reverend Billy used to say about clothes and shopping- you gotta have clothes. It is a necessity. You just don't need to have a lot or go to the mall everyday like the (former) president tells you. Shop responsibly.
So the question I now pose to myself is: how necessary is coffee? I guess the more appropriate question which I can easily answer with a 'Very' is: how necessary is getting out of the house, being around other people, doing something I can get lost in and forget the catchy music and burnt coffee aroma?

Damn you mermaid for running the other shops out of business I yell while shaking my fist in the ACed, vanilla scented air. I would shake the other fist too just to make a point but its holding my (now) lukewarm grande latte and at four bucks a pop, I don't want to lose a drop with all this agitation.

But I reckon my sanity is worth at least five bucks a pop.

Or for those of you who speak the language- a Venti's worth.