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the soccer moms of Starbucks
Sunday, August 14 2005
setting: Wyndmoor, Greater Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Today I was to return to Hurley but before I did so, John and I made a morning breakfast run to a nearby fancy-pants neighborhood, Chestnut Hill I think. We sat outside a bakery tearing apart and eating an entire loaf of bread while a steady stream of customers parked briefly to pick up their orders in the two open spaces in front. The customers at this particular bakery all drove Beamers or Benzes. I had a cup of coffee, but John didn't crave caffeine until we got back to his car, which was parked in front of a Starbucks. First he started working for a Philadelphia pharmaceutical company, and now I see him ducking into a Starbucks! I followed him inside and, after waiting forever in line, he bought us both ice coffees, though they were luke warm because he'd requested less than the usual amount of ice. I hadn't been in a Starbucks in a long time and it struck me that the customers were different from the ones you see in a non-franchise coffee joint. The people here were all soccer moms and the sort of people who like to hang around in places frequented by soccer moms. Everybody was just slightly unhip in every decision they'd made, whether it was the color choices of their wardrobes, the styling of their hair, or their decision for where to buy their coffee. Another thing I noticed was a certain uniformity to the clientel. These were the sort of people who appreciate standards, such as the precise flavor of coffee that a national chain can consistently provide.
I took the most direct route possible home from Philadelphia. This put me on US 206 through Princeton, NJ. I don't know why this little two lane road is the most direct route between the two biggest cities on the east coast, Philadelphia and New York, but it is. It's actually an even more direct rout to Upstate New York, since it leads to 287, which takes me around all the traffic problems of New York City and dumps me on the New York Thruway 70 miles from home.
I'd been putting off my refueling until New Jersey, since it usually has the cheapest gas prices in the northeast. But the cheapest gas I saw even in New Jersey was 2.35/gallon, almost as high as the price I'd seen at Fuel, that absurd upscale gas station prototype in Charlottesville. In the end desperation compelled me to buy gas at $2.45/gallon. Evidently the price of gas had skyrocketed since I began this vacation a little over a week ago; gas had been in the low $2.30s when I left Hurley, and New York gas prices are always higher than those of surrounding states.
By the time I got home, I was a ruin of my former self. Instead of being relaxing and restorative, my vacation had taken a toll. I was still hunover from yesterday and my hands and feet and forearms were itching from Shenandoah poison ivy. I took an antihistamine and then a nap and when I woke up, I only remained awake a short while before going to bed for the night.
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