"Downtown Transfer"
Red scuffed-up bricks cover the front patio. Nine black wicker chairs, one random metal chair, and three round, grey, sticky, off-balance tables sit casually atop of the worn ground. A large kelly green cloth umbrella hovers over the left side while a handful of potted plants adorn the patio’s symmetrically square perimeter. Their leaves chronically flop over onto the ground purely out of dehydration—because who has time to water the plants when there’s a line of customers to the door, coffee needs to be re-brewed, and people are asking for things they could probably get themselves if they went to the convenience store and purchased some common sense. (Needless to say, it must be expensive these days).
When the sun sinks down and the street lamps lining Pacific Avenue light up, one lone old antique-looking street lamp slouches over the patio and flickers on. It’s lambency provides nothing more than dim reading light for those enjoying what’s left of their day as they mindlessly mull over their one of a kind handcrafted beverages on the homely yet grunge-infested patio of the only Starbucks in Santa Cruz.
Our outside trash can which sits on the patio is a piece of work. It’s a grimy shade of black and a scrap of rubber is always hanging from the edge of its lid. Hardly anyone makes time to fix it, so it just hangs there without a care in the world. A little super glue, and it’d be good as new. Another thing about the outside trash can. It is constantly overflowing. Cold cups. Hot cups. Napkins of all shapes and sizes. Trash from other establishments. Plates and scraps of uneaten food get subsequently shoved into our trash receptacle for no apparent reason. The last thing I need is a half-eaten burrito from Taco Bell or a gaping pile of Coldstone ice cream cups and spoons stacked beyond the brim of the can, so that when I remove the lid to re-bag it, all of the ever-so-gracefully piled up trash falls to the ground. After all, it’s my job to bend over and gather up the mess. What’s new.
That trash can rests alongside the black metal railing that leads directly to our two, and noticeably old, front doors. They are weathered and worn but their small square eye-level windows are reminiscent of something straight out of a fairy tale cottage home design catalog. Actually, the store itself completely resembles that of a cottage from the outside, and takes on a sort of quasi-fantasyland/storybook feel. One could easily imagine the Seven Dwarves entering and exiting the vicinity as if it were no big deal. Just from the outside though. On the inside however,... Let’s just go with the old saying that ‘one shouldn’t judge a book solely by its cover.’ Despite the fact that this store is not a book, it surely has a cover. And on the inside there is surely a story to tell.
We’ve already run out of pumpkin spice syrup more times than I can count on two hands. Granted, it is October. But to be honest, telling customers that we’re out of pumpkin spice feels like committing a sin. Some have literally been brought to tears over the shortage of the orange seasonal syrup. The reactions of customers have been both ridiculous and limitless.
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