Setting: The eBar at the super cool new Nordstrom while waiting for Lisa to arrive for another whammyjuice.com summit.
Happy eBar barista: Hello. What can I whip up for you today?
Moi: Tall latte please.
Happy eBar barista: And what kind of milk would you prefer? Skim? 2 percent?
Moi: Ha! Skim or 2 percent in a latte is for wussies. Big wussies. Give me the real thing baby. Full fat with high test. Make it extra fat. Stat.
Happy eBar barista who is now visibly energized by my order: You’re our kind of woman.
Moi: I’m a purist, baby. All these people walking around demanding custom shots of flavor and skinny milk are polluting their coffee. It’s pollution I say! Be a woman about it and drink coffee, not custom made wussie coffee.
Happy eBar barista: Our kind of girl. ROCK STAR!
Rock Star? Moi? I’m stunned. Yes! Finally someone has realized my star potential besides me. And Mom, but since that’s kind of her job, it doesn’t count. Have I found my people? Yes. I should have known I’d find my first fans at a coffee shop.
All 3 Happy eBar baristas behind the counter bowing in unison: We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!
I’m jumping up and down with arms in the air, I acknowledge my first surge of appreciation from strangers.
And I have the coffee cup to prove it.
(Notice how the cup is gently held by crease-free hands. I don’t watch America’s Next Top Model for fun. Tyra has the answers.)
The burst of endorphins lasted for three days. Had I ever dreamt of rock star-ness? Of course, just like any red blooded American girl in the mid-west who grew up on a steady diet of Zepplin, Rush and Heart. I heard Heartless in junior high and immediately placed Nancy Wilson at the top of Maslow’s Hierarchy. Can anyone come close to that?
The answer is a resounding ‘No.’
And don’t think it’s over. I could drive a tour bus. Now where are the talented niece and nephew with the guitar and mini amp…?