At one time or another, we’ve all been there. Some of us still go often. Yet more of us go once each quarter but put “3x per week” on our dating profiles.
It’s The Gym. Whether you patronize fancy-schmancy places like LA Fitness or that budget shithole Planet Fitness (like I do), the experience is largely the same – only the sartorial quality of the front desk staff, bathroom fixtures, and monthly payments vary significantly.
Unfortunately, the majority of that common experience is a frustrating one. There’s almost zero upside to The Gym, actually… maybe a communal sense of progress and a synergy of motivation? Yeah, that’s pushing it. It mostly sucks.
Let’s first address any confusion that might stem from the title and/or existence of this article. This is not an installment of Shit That Needs to Stop, as I have already addressed the most egregious missteps possible at a Starbucks in a previous post.
No, this is the second installment of the award-winning series Excerpts from Suburbia, and it focuses on the quirks and foibles of, and anecdotes from, local Starbucks locations.
Before we did rage-inducing irritations. Now we do cute idiosyncrasies and stories. Good? Good.
Anyway, without further ado (and I’ve already ado’d the shit out of this), on to Excerpts From Suburbia : Starbucks.
The suburbs. It’s the same shit on every corner. If you need anything that’s not a cell phone, fake tan, cup of Starbucks, or burger, you’re probably gonna have to drive a little. And oh yes, you will drive, because mass transit in the suburbs is like tolerance at the Republican National Convention – it might exist, but you’re gonna need a map and good luck to find it.
Being the savvy, cultured, international debutante that I am, it’s not always a comforting experience here in Suburbia; I can get a little restless looking for novelty and excitement. I’ve come to learn, though, that if I pay enough attention, I can still find wonderful and bizarre things.
This week, I spent a couple hours in Panera Bread.