A Tale of 2 Starbucks

FuelMix found himself deep in Fagland more than once on the same day. That was unusual since FuelMix doesn’t live or work downtown. But it was a working day that started early and went late. FuelMix was tired. His pedicured toosies hurt and his swanky cowboy boots were becoming a pain in the plantar.

Twice FuelMix had to catch his breath. FuelMix had been very ill, stressed out and under the weather. So, food was not on his mind. The only thing that would do it was a Tall Mocha.

FuelMix sloped into the first Starbucks, located on a street corner in Fagland. He grabbed his Mocha and looked around for an empty seat. The place was shabby and peppered with twinkish squealing Faglanders whose every sentence began with “Oh my God….” Amongst them sat middle aged dudes, looking rather unwashed, but wearing very gay and age in-appropriate clothing.

The place had the air of urgent desperation. It was animated but hollow, functioning but not alive. When FuelMix scanned the place for an empty seat at a fag’s table, the fag did his famous head rotation. FuelMix had seen it before in a certain sauna and his blood boiled.
Several times FuelMix thought it would be fun to throw the hot Mocha into the fag’s face, but decided it would be a waste of whipped cream.

FuelMix wedged himself into a small space at the window counter, between 2 attitudinal twinks with no money but abundant pretensions. The Mocha was fine and appreciated. The clientele was underwhelming.

Hours later, FuelMix needed a refill. There was another Starbucks in Fagland, a little further up from the first location, and located next to an organic grocery. FuelMix peered in through the plate glass window. There were people there and the place was nice and tidy.

FuelMix ordered his Mocha and looked around for a seat. The clientele were older fags in their 30s, better dressed, more subdued in their conversation and…personable. FuelMix was deep in thought and paced about with his drink. Three times fags offered seats at their table and cleared away their newspapers to make room.

FuelMix sat down gratefully and smiled. The fag across the table began a polite non-intrusive conversation. FuelMix was impressed and chatted. As the time came to leave, fag shook his hand and some of the other fags waved and said goodbye.

FuelMix shook his head in disbelief. 2 Starbucks deep in Fagland, serving exactly the same product, located spitting distance from each other, could not have been more different.

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