Idiot Barista at Starbuck's

Sometimes I don't like to write at home, because Katie won't stop nagging me, telling me about recipes or asking me for kisses, etc.  Penny also likes to try to jump up in my lap, bring me a ball to play with, or ask to be let out to potty.  Annoying!  So I like to go somewhere with an ambiance appropriate for writing, and with it's dim lights, sophisticated clientele and occasionally attractive baristas, Starbuck's is the perfect place for a literati such as myself to ply his craft, as writers are wont to do.

So I drove far away and found a nice quiet Starbucks across from a high school, took the table with the "disabled" sticker on it and comfortably spread my stuff out all over it.  I wrote for several hours (I use a hand written notebook, hence the "pencil" part of this blog, as I find word processors to be barbaric,) and must have had six or so cups of coffee when out of nowhere these loud little pricks wearing letterman's jackets come barging in, braying about things that are only of interest to the unsophisticated teenager set.  So I politely "shushed" them as loud as I could.  They looked at me, then at each other and I could tell by the looks of confusion and surprise that things were going to go my way.  Or so I thought at the time.

Well right away they start talking about "chrome rims" again, only this time loudly and smirking.  I could tell they were doing it on purpose, to make me irritated.  I get no respite!  Not at home, not in the library with all the God-damn elementary school children, and not even at Starbucks which was founded primarily to give writers like me a nice place to work with a sophisticated ambiance. After shushing them again (and not so politely this time!) I decided to go use the bathroom and maybe when I came out they'd be gone.

Except when I came out after 15 minutes, they were still there and were just finishing their drinks.  When I returned to my table, by hand-written notebook was gone!  They were all looking at me with that apelike smirk jocks have in highschool, before they become drunks or common suburban parents.  I know they were the ones who took it, I just knew it!  All those hours of work and inspiration would be completed and likely published, accredited to some smirking teenage ape when it was my genius that engendered the whole thing!  The mere thought outraged me.

I stomped over to them and DEMANDED they return my notebook! But all they did was look at each other and laugh, and tell me it wasn't them.  Well, I've watched enough episodes of "24" to know how to use "enhanced interrogation" effectively, so I kicked the biggest one in the shin as hard as I could.  She winced and yelped in agony. Then I asked her friend "You want your friend to get some more of that, or you gonna tell me where my notebook is?"  I tried sounding like Jack as hard as I could.  But she just turned to her friend "Kenzie, are you allright?"  At this point, tears were welling up in "Kenzie's" eyes and it was obvious my interrogation was going nowhere.

Then the manager came over and started shouting at me.  He said I had to leave or he was calling the police, and that Kenzie was going to have to miss her shift to get her shin looked at.  I told him about the notebook, which he pointed out had been in my hand the whole time.

So now I am banned from Starbucks and have nowhere quiet to write.  I've thought about my actions, and you know what?  I should have let the police arrest me.  Novellas are always more compelling when the author was in prison when they were written, and I'm certain the crime of "assaulting a cheerleader" is heinous enough to get me thrown in the hole!  Even though SHE started it with her loud talking and poor manners.