Where to start?
Even the man who opened the door for the woman with the accessory dog knew it wouldn't sit right.
This was not Europe. Theirs was not a working dog.
"What will you do if they don't let you bring the dog in?" he asked as he opened the Starbucks' door, for her, the dog and the two children tagging along with them.
"I'll go outside,'' she said.
The rule follower in me couldn't believe what I was hearing, let alone watching, as I followed them inside for my caffeine fix.
She sat down at the table closest to the door as the man and the two children got in line for breakfast treats and beverages. I waited patiently behind them.
Seething.
I tried to reel it in. I could hear the voice of one of my closest friends telling me to ignore it. It was not hurting me. Looking around I could see other customers acknowledging the dog, ignoring the scenario.
Hey, it doesn't hurt me to watch infants put salt shakers in their mouths while their parents text and talk at a restaurant table, but I let the waitress know to remove the compromised condiment container before the next unsuspecting customer reaches for it.
I've mellowed, even though I have moved a few years closer to losing that filter we all try to engage until we get old enough to ignore it completely.
The old me, the me that got cursed out and was once told to mind her own business after suggesting a less-than-attentive dad have his toddler sit down in the grocery cart instead of allowing her to stand to reach something out of realistic grasp on an end stand, would have confronted dog-toting woman.
Time has taught me that people are crazy, so I really don't like to confront people unless I see someone in danger.
FYI, I have watched a child a few feet away tumble out of a grocery cart. It's not pretty.
The dog in the Starbucks on this subzero day was not really endangering anyone. I've seen children with drippy, glazed donut faces touching everything in sight, being more dangerous.
The owner was, however, breaking the law.
The woman made no attempt to really hide the dog under her arm. Not even when the manager, who had already had to ask someone to take their dog out earlier that day, went over to break it to her that dogs are not allowed inside unless they are working dogs.
The woman said she would go outside and wait in the car; the rest of her party was still waiting for its complicated drink/breakfast order to be complete.
But, she still sat and chatted with a person she knew, modeling behavior in front of the children.
I was still waiting to get my coffee. I had opted for decaf.
As I was leaving and she was still talking to her friend, the dog gave me a look. It's beautiful face begging for sympathy.
Maybe he was a working dog after all.
Showing posts with label Starbucks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Starbucks. Show all posts
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Just how cold is it?
If there is one thing people in the Chicagoland area can agree on, it is that we are sick of the weather.
Sick of the snow.
Sick of the ice.
Sick of the slush.
Sick of the snow blower and shovel.
Sick of the slush freezing into more ice.
Sick of the salt-shortage stories.
Sick of the record-breaking snowfalls and temperatures.
Winter is not one category that I care to win a competition in.
Those of you hoping we will soon surpass the third snowiest winter statistics, get a hold of yourselves.
Watch what you wish for.
For those of you keeping track of our record-setting sub-zero days, knock it off.
Isn't one sub-zero day enough?
The only upside to the cold side of Chicago, is that crime drops.
Remember when the weather was on the 8s on the Weather Channel and at the 18-minute mark of the local news?
Now it is the lead, it is the center, it is the topic that makes the sports crew cram results into agate-sized air time.
Weather is breaking news. Something I don't understand since the TV stations forecast the impending storms for days before it becomes breaking news.
When we moved here 17 years ago from Florida, people thought we were crazy. My husband's former employer thought I was joking when I asked for a team of huskies and a full-length fur coat as part of our relocation package. After this gray, cold, snowy winter I am beginning to believe I am going crazy.
Life goes on in Chicagoland when it is winter. People here don't clear off the grocery store shelves for a two-day event like they do on the East Coast. Here they shovel paths to their barbecue grills.
While growing up in Philadelphia, schools closed on the first inch or two in a forecast (maybe because we walked to and from school back then). Our local schools here have closed a record four times this year. My friend Lynne in Virginia said her daughter has had more snow days since she moved there than Lynne, a native Chicagoan, had in her entire life.
Virginians, like Pennsylvanians, run to get bread and milk in the house just in case the weather would strand them.
My mom, before moving into assisted living and then passing away a year ago, was one of the worst offenders of that panic purchasing. She didn't even drink milk, but would have my sister or someone else rushing out, to make sure she had milk in the house.
You do not want milk, or a ton of other perishable provisions, in the house if you are going to lose power for a few days. My sister just found that out when she was plunged into polar darkness for nearly a week in her suburban Philly home.
Another perk of living in the Chicagoland area is you can keep your groceries in the car for hours while driving around or even days if the power goes out. Don't try that in Orlando. Even in winter (it was going to be 85 degrees there today).
While the weather here is killing the retail economy, travel agents are all a flutter. Despite our major airport canceling 7.5 percent of its flights this winter, people are getting out of Dodge. Why they have come back is beyond me.
My husband and I will make another attempt to visit friends in Arizona later this month. Our first plan to escape the weather here for a weekend, was foiled three weeks ago by a plane cancellation. I had the optimistic pedicure and everything packed when the flight notice came in that afternoon. Ironically, not a flake or flurry going on here or in Scottsdale that day. But the weather around the rest of the country mucked up our departure.
The airline called it an equipment problem. Maybe the equipment was snowed in on the East Coast and the aircraft could not get into Chicago.
Guaranteed blizzard later this month when we attempt to escape for Scottsdale II.
My friends in Florida, who have done periodic health checks on us this winter without making jokes about the weather, have offered to host us. We just have not been able to get there.
One of my dear friends asked what I've been doing to stay sane. I recently traded my Sebring Convertible for a new SUV so we can get over the end of the driveway, where the snowplows sock you in.
Even when it is cold and gray you have to get out of your house for fresh air. Sometimes I go out to get the mail. I have been going to the fitness center and Starbucks.
I drink a lot of coffee (decaf because my eyes have been twitching), I watch too much TV. I read, I nap, I snack, I have become a house cat. Sometimes I write.
Today my friend D and I went for a reflexology massages. Her birthday gift to me. It was a good way to get the circulation going and got me away from the house. I don't think I would have enjoyed the outing if I had been sweaty. It was a good plan to go on a day when you were numb walking into the business.
Yesterday, while eating fantastic charred grilled cheese sandwiches (just like the ones I make at home) and homemade soup (is there a better winter lunch?), at my friend Sarah's house, we made an executive decision to get out of her house, pick up our friend Joan, and go to the movies.
Twisted: Went to see a sing-along version of "Frozen." Just wasn't cold enough outside.
We were the only three people in the theater. We watched most of the credits before forcing ourselves to go back outside to the car.
Breaking news: It may hit 40 degrees here tomorrow.
Sad news: It could snow again Saturday.
Sick of the snow.
Sick of the ice.
Sick of the slush.
Sick of the snow blower and shovel.
Sick of the slush freezing into more ice.
Sick of the salt-shortage stories.
Sick of the record-breaking snowfalls and temperatures.
Winter is not one category that I care to win a competition in.
Those of you hoping we will soon surpass the third snowiest winter statistics, get a hold of yourselves.
Watch what you wish for.
For those of you keeping track of our record-setting sub-zero days, knock it off.
Isn't one sub-zero day enough?
The only upside to the cold side of Chicago, is that crime drops.
Remember when the weather was on the 8s on the Weather Channel and at the 18-minute mark of the local news?
Now it is the lead, it is the center, it is the topic that makes the sports crew cram results into agate-sized air time.
Weather is breaking news. Something I don't understand since the TV stations forecast the impending storms for days before it becomes breaking news.
When we moved here 17 years ago from Florida, people thought we were crazy. My husband's former employer thought I was joking when I asked for a team of huskies and a full-length fur coat as part of our relocation package. After this gray, cold, snowy winter I am beginning to believe I am going crazy.
Life goes on in Chicagoland when it is winter. People here don't clear off the grocery store shelves for a two-day event like they do on the East Coast. Here they shovel paths to their barbecue grills.
While growing up in Philadelphia, schools closed on the first inch or two in a forecast (maybe because we walked to and from school back then). Our local schools here have closed a record four times this year. My friend Lynne in Virginia said her daughter has had more snow days since she moved there than Lynne, a native Chicagoan, had in her entire life.
Virginians, like Pennsylvanians, run to get bread and milk in the house just in case the weather would strand them.
My mom, before moving into assisted living and then passing away a year ago, was one of the worst offenders of that panic purchasing. She didn't even drink milk, but would have my sister or someone else rushing out, to make sure she had milk in the house.
You do not want milk, or a ton of other perishable provisions, in the house if you are going to lose power for a few days. My sister just found that out when she was plunged into polar darkness for nearly a week in her suburban Philly home.
Another perk of living in the Chicagoland area is you can keep your groceries in the car for hours while driving around or even days if the power goes out. Don't try that in Orlando. Even in winter (it was going to be 85 degrees there today).
While the weather here is killing the retail economy, travel agents are all a flutter. Despite our major airport canceling 7.5 percent of its flights this winter, people are getting out of Dodge. Why they have come back is beyond me.
My husband and I will make another attempt to visit friends in Arizona later this month. Our first plan to escape the weather here for a weekend, was foiled three weeks ago by a plane cancellation. I had the optimistic pedicure and everything packed when the flight notice came in that afternoon. Ironically, not a flake or flurry going on here or in Scottsdale that day. But the weather around the rest of the country mucked up our departure.
The airline called it an equipment problem. Maybe the equipment was snowed in on the East Coast and the aircraft could not get into Chicago.
Guaranteed blizzard later this month when we attempt to escape for Scottsdale II.
My friends in Florida, who have done periodic health checks on us this winter without making jokes about the weather, have offered to host us. We just have not been able to get there.
One of my dear friends asked what I've been doing to stay sane. I recently traded my Sebring Convertible for a new SUV so we can get over the end of the driveway, where the snowplows sock you in.
Even when it is cold and gray you have to get out of your house for fresh air. Sometimes I go out to get the mail. I have been going to the fitness center and Starbucks.
I drink a lot of coffee (decaf because my eyes have been twitching), I watch too much TV. I read, I nap, I snack, I have become a house cat. Sometimes I write.
Today my friend D and I went for a reflexology massages. Her birthday gift to me. It was a good way to get the circulation going and got me away from the house. I don't think I would have enjoyed the outing if I had been sweaty. It was a good plan to go on a day when you were numb walking into the business.
Yesterday, while eating fantastic charred grilled cheese sandwiches (just like the ones I make at home) and homemade soup (is there a better winter lunch?), at my friend Sarah's house, we made an executive decision to get out of her house, pick up our friend Joan, and go to the movies.
Twisted: Went to see a sing-along version of "Frozen." Just wasn't cold enough outside.
We were the only three people in the theater. We watched most of the credits before forcing ourselves to go back outside to the car.
Breaking news: It may hit 40 degrees here tomorrow.
Sad news: It could snow again Saturday.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
You are never too old to chase your dreams
My breakfast buddy actually called Diana Nyad an "imbecile" between bites of her veggie egg white omelet one morning this week.
"The reason you don't hear about other people swimming from Cuba to Miami all the time is there aren't many people who would want to do something so crazy,'' she said. "Admit it."
"Never," I said as I slathered butter on my bagel.
Nyad, 64, one of my all-time heroines, is my first choice for Sportsperson of the Year.
Earlier this week she swam 110 miles in shark-infested, jellyfish-filled waters to finally -- on her fifth attempt -- complete this "crazy" feat. She walked out of the water on her own and told supporters and microphones a trio of slurred tidbits: "One is, we should never ever give up; two is, you're never too old to chase your dreams. ...''
At 55, I have enough trouble hauling my butt out of bed each morning for a walk to Starbucks with one of my confidants. The thought of putting on a bathing suit and wearing it in front of television camera would paralyze me with fear. I can't even get motivated to drive over to my neighboring fitness center to take a water aerobics class with the rest of the mid-aged, Speedo-clad manatees.
The third comment Nyad, a motivational speaker and Hall of Fame distance swimmer, offered up was: "... it looks like a solitary sport, but it is a team.''
Nyad, along with her 35-member support team, without use of a shark cage, finished the journey to Key West in 53 hours. Years of science, research and her individual training helped her complete this journey. Nyad can credit the team, but it was her years of time in the water that paid off.
The audience is divided on Nyad's success. Some like my breakfast buddy have even accused Nyad of being an unashamed, self-promoter. How many people climb Mt. Everest and keep it a secret? How many people start a blog to get attention?
And with 24-hour news always looking to fill another minute or two I'd much rather see/hear/read about people who accomplish extraordinary feats instead of twerking (a dance move that is not well enough known for auto-correct to not override the usage of the word).
One mile in a 50-meter Olympic swimming pool is 16 laps (32 lengths). Before quitting my swim club team, 16 laps in a pool would drive me crazy with boredom. I also hated sweating while in the water.
A silicone mask, bodysuit, boots and gloves were Nyad's lone protection from sea creatures. Okay, in 1997 Australian Susie Maroney, with protection and draft of a shark cage, had also completed the trip. No less a feat if you ask me. If a shark cage makes you feel safer, go try it.
In Chicago there are restaurants called 90 Miles Cuban Cafe. Legend has it the cafes' Gonzalez family journeyed from Cuba in 1980 on a shrimp boat from Mariel Harbor to Key West. The boat, in stormy seas took 15 hours to hurl them to freedom and their first step towards building an American dream. My family loves Cuban food. It is approximately 30 miles to the nearest 90 Miles Cuban Cafe from my house. For some reason it has always been too overwhelming to drive on the Kennedy Expressway and I-90 (okay my aversion to driving on bridges and highways is a whole other blog) to get there for the cuisine. But here's a promise: We will get there this year and toast Nyad with a BYOB Cuba Libre and some Ropa Vieja.
Congratulations Diana Nyad.
"The reason you don't hear about other people swimming from Cuba to Miami all the time is there aren't many people who would want to do something so crazy,'' she said. "Admit it."
"Never," I said as I slathered butter on my bagel.
Nyad, 64, one of my all-time heroines, is my first choice for Sportsperson of the Year.
Earlier this week she swam 110 miles in shark-infested, jellyfish-filled waters to finally -- on her fifth attempt -- complete this "crazy" feat. She walked out of the water on her own and told supporters and microphones a trio of slurred tidbits: "One is, we should never ever give up; two is, you're never too old to chase your dreams. ...''
At 55, I have enough trouble hauling my butt out of bed each morning for a walk to Starbucks with one of my confidants. The thought of putting on a bathing suit and wearing it in front of television camera would paralyze me with fear. I can't even get motivated to drive over to my neighboring fitness center to take a water aerobics class with the rest of the mid-aged, Speedo-clad manatees.
The third comment Nyad, a motivational speaker and Hall of Fame distance swimmer, offered up was: "... it looks like a solitary sport, but it is a team.''
Nyad, along with her 35-member support team, without use of a shark cage, finished the journey to Key West in 53 hours. Years of science, research and her individual training helped her complete this journey. Nyad can credit the team, but it was her years of time in the water that paid off.
The audience is divided on Nyad's success. Some like my breakfast buddy have even accused Nyad of being an unashamed, self-promoter. How many people climb Mt. Everest and keep it a secret? How many people start a blog to get attention?
And with 24-hour news always looking to fill another minute or two I'd much rather see/hear/read about people who accomplish extraordinary feats instead of twerking (a dance move that is not well enough known for auto-correct to not override the usage of the word).
One mile in a 50-meter Olympic swimming pool is 16 laps (32 lengths). Before quitting my swim club team, 16 laps in a pool would drive me crazy with boredom. I also hated sweating while in the water.
A silicone mask, bodysuit, boots and gloves were Nyad's lone protection from sea creatures. Okay, in 1997 Australian Susie Maroney, with protection and draft of a shark cage, had also completed the trip. No less a feat if you ask me. If a shark cage makes you feel safer, go try it.
In Chicago there are restaurants called 90 Miles Cuban Cafe. Legend has it the cafes' Gonzalez family journeyed from Cuba in 1980 on a shrimp boat from Mariel Harbor to Key West. The boat, in stormy seas took 15 hours to hurl them to freedom and their first step towards building an American dream. My family loves Cuban food. It is approximately 30 miles to the nearest 90 Miles Cuban Cafe from my house. For some reason it has always been too overwhelming to drive on the Kennedy Expressway and I-90 (okay my aversion to driving on bridges and highways is a whole other blog) to get there for the cuisine. But here's a promise: We will get there this year and toast Nyad with a BYOB Cuba Libre and some Ropa Vieja.
Congratulations Diana Nyad.
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