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Los Angeles Times Valley Edition | Glendale News-Press | 2005 May 21
Bucking the coffee trend
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
You'd think getting a cup of joe in the morning should be the least stressful part of the day.
Not if you're heading down to the coffee shop with the mermaid logo on Burchette Street in Glendale.
For a long time, I avoided stepping into this specific branch of Starbucks because of all the commotion surrounding it. As I try not to go anywhere I am not welcome, I did not want to be a part of the problem.
Even after relocating to my new office nearby, I continued going to my regular coffee shop, where the giant frogs faithfully stand guard at the entrance of the mini-mall.
Finally, the lack of street parking created by construction weakened my force of habit and directed me to the infamous store further north. I could find out for myself if I was really not welcome.
On my first official morning at the coffee shop, I cautiously pulled into the street and finally found a parking spot past the numerous trash cans set neatly at the curbside.v
Another car parked in front of me across the narrow driveway. As I got out, I wanted to warn the driver to make sure she was not blocking the path in any way. But I kept my mouth shut.
I made the short trip to the coffee shop, where I was greeted with a sign on the door, which read: "Do not disturb the neighbors!"
Out of all the places where a bilingual sign would've been appropriate, this would've been it. Even the most vociferous proponents of English-only mind-set would've probably supported a sign in Armenian, as well.
It's no secret that many of the patrons are first-generation Armenian immigrants, and the concept of individual space can still be new to them. But what do I know?
I finally stepped in. The first thing I noticed was the scarcity of chairs in the airy space, the sort of atmosphere in which you're indirectly told: "Give us your money and leave."
I proceeded to slice through the acres of open floor in big steps, the type of walk the Marx Brothers would've been proud of.
I got my usual Americano and headed out to the side door, where another sign was awaiting me: "Do not use this door!"
I complied, making a quick exit at the original point of entry.v
Once I reached my car, I noticed the girl who'd parked in front of me was already engaged in an argument with a resident.
"I am only sticking out a half an inch in front of the driveway," she claimed.
The resident responded: "Girl, you know you've broken the law, and don't even try to defend yourself."
The visitor's final words were: "Miss, you must've had a bad morning, and now you made my morning bad too."
I quickly got into my car and drove away.
On the second day, I returned apprehensively. Trashcans were still out in force. Could it be they were telling me, "Don't park here"?
I got my beverage and quickly disappeared.
Day three. Some trashcans were still lingering at the curbside. By now I was noticing how far apart they were placed, as if they were supposed to take up as much room as physically possible without letting a car in-between.
I passed by a car in front of the store with the engine running; the driver was pleading: "But officer, my friend just went in for a second."
No mercy from the official -- the patron had stopped his car in the red and broken the law.
I meekly stepped into the store and placed my order.
On the way back to my car, a fashionably dressed woman was wrestling with three trashcans. She finally managed to pull the triplets onto the grass to make room for her car. On the other side of the street, in the vast and empty restaurant parking lot, some gave her a short applause and a quick cheer: "Hoo, hoo!"
On day four, the most hard-core of the trashcans had survived. By this time, I was ready for all sorts of conspiracy theories. Some trash cans were now placed at the tip of driveways. Maybe they were saying, "No U-turns here."
The fourth experience was enough to help me make up my mind. As soon as I decide on an espresso machine for my office, I am keeping my coffee dollars to myself.
As Groucho Marx would have said if he was accompanying me on my coffee trips: "Don't look now, but there's one man too many on this street, and I think it's you."
Copyright 2005 Glendale News Press
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