Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Woman Walks Into a Starbucks

Off My Noodle

Dear Noodlers:

This week’s column is a bit late since my trip to New York last week, combined with the exciting arrival of my books, has kept me extremely busy. “The Women’s Daily Irony Supplement,” which has an official release date of May 6, looks fabulous! I am very grateful to my publishers at Creative Minds Press for the wonderful work they’ve done.

If you want copies in time for Mother’s Day, you’re best off ordering them directly from my web site, http://www.judygruen.com. (This way you can get them autographed, too.) Each book is only $14.95, and my previous humor books, “Carpool Tunnel Syndrome” and “Till We Eat Again,” will also make great gifts for moms. If you don’t need your copy of “The Women’s Daily Irony Supplement” autographed or in a hurry, I encourage you to order from amazon.com, bn.com, or your local bookseller. These sales are also important for the book’s momentum.

I can’t wait for you to get your own copies and enjoy the new book. It’s the result of many years’ work and revision, and I’m confident that you’ll really enjoy it. If you’ve already ordered, as so many of you have, I thank you for your support. It means so much to have you as subscribers and fans of my work. Now enjoy the column, and have a wonderful rest of the week. Remember, if you have trouble reading this column, go to http://www.judygruen.com and read it on the “Off My Noodle” page. Changing email addresses? The column won’t follow you! Enter your new email on any page of my web site, and use the unsubscribe link at the bottom of the email where you no longer wish to receive the columns.

Cheers,
Judy

Woman Walks Into a Starbucks

by Judy Gruen
(This work is copyrighted material. For permission to reprint in any print or online publication, contact me at .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address). )

I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but I realized my behavior was decidedly peculiar and bound to attract attention. I walked into a Starbucks with my friend Laura, but instead of waiting patiently in line for an organic, Ethiopain Antigua Supremo (refined with vibrant flavors and refreshing acidity), we boldly strode to the head of the line, where I began to riffle through the stack of grande sized cups on the counter. I rejected the first one I pulled, and the second, but I eagerly commandeered the third cup, and the sixth and the ninth cups in the stack. I thought about asking permission to take them, but the manager had told me on the phone to come in and get them. Besides, I felt a certain sense of entitlement.

Unfortunately, an actual paying customer (unlike a cup pirate such as myself) had been watching me with suspicion. As we turned to leave, cups in hand, he shouted, “Hey, what are you doing, taking those cups?“I didn’t realize Starbucks had undercover security.

I turned to him, glad that Laura was with me and could vouch for my claim. “This is my quote on the cup,”  I explained.

“What do you mean, your quote?” he demanded.
“I mean that I wrote this quote, and I’ve been looking all over for the cups. The manager told me I could take them.”
 
He grabbed a cup from my hand and looked at the quote. It said: “Have you noticed that dogs are the new kids? You take a walk with your kid and your dog, but nobody says, ‘What a cute kid!’ Instead they say, ‘What a cute dog! What’s his name? Is he a rescue?’ Maybe if I put a collar and leash on my kid someone will notice her.” The quote was meant to be funny, but this guy wasn’t laughing. All he said was, “You mean you’re Judy Green?”
 
“Gruen. Yes, I’m her.” I wanted to get out of there. I had a speaking engagement in twenty minutes and this guy made me nervous, which meant that my make-up might begin to melt. I couldn’t afford for that to happen.

Laura shot me a worried look, and we turned toward the exit, even though this buttinsky had taken one of my cups. Yet our hopes for escape were premature.  “Hey Bob,” Mr. Buttinsky called to his pal, “This lady says she’s Judy Green, and this is her quote on the cup.”
 
I groaned inwardly as sidekick Bob marched over to examine the cup and my spurious claim of authorship of its quote. I wanted to evaporate like the mist on a caramel macchiato. If this was a tiny taste of the celebrity life, Jennifer Anniston could have it, and the Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, too. All I wanted was to write my columns and books. Now I had driven thirty miles to find my cup (okay, I had to be in the area anyway for the speaking engagement), and fate had placed me in the only store rigged with customers demanding I show photo ID before I could take two empty paper cups. 

The men peppered me with questions. How’d I get a quote on there? Was I famous or something? They were standing entirely too close, and I took a step back.

“Look, I’ve got to go. Go to the Starbucks web site and you can also submit a quote.”  If you can spell, I thought meanly. While they were still shouting questions, Laura and I bolted.

We made it just in time for my speaking engagement. I had been told that this would be a great crowd, a friendly crowd, a crowd sure to buy my books. I spent the better part of a week preparing for it, and had even taken extreme measures to look good, including running out that day to buy an uncomfortable slimming undergarment that allowed me to breathe every twenty-four seconds. I pressed my friend Karen into service to do my make-up. Another friend was going to film it, and I’d upload the best snippets, including the audience convulsed with laughter, on my web site.

They were the toughest group I’d ever faced. Their cell phones rang, they sauntered by me left and right looking for the loo, and a few kept their arms crossed, as if daring me to entertain them. Their laughter was hard-won, and when it was over, they left without buying anything.

“It wasn’t you,” Laura consoled me afterward. “It’s hard to smile after that much plastic surgery.”

“Well, let this be a lesson to us,” I said, absorbing sympathy as fast as Laura could dole it out. “If we ever have enough money for that much plastic surgery when we need it, we’ll go on a cruise instead.” 

When I got home, I burst into tears, which was a shame, since Karen had done such a splendid job on my make-up. But families are required to provide love and comfort, especially when you are the one who cooks dinner every night. My family did not fail me. They hugged me and reassured me that next time would be better. My husband suggested that I refuse speaking engagements if more than fifty percent of the audience has had facial plastic surgery. This is now my new policy.

And they were thrilled that I had brought home, like a hunter with her catch, the long-awaited Starbucks cups. The build-up to this had been many months, and had provided ample conversational fodder around the house. One afternoon, as I fantasized about the quote propelling sales of my new book to Harry Potteresque proportions, one of my teenager’s friends said to me, “That’s so cool, Mrs. Gruen. Try not to think about five million people throwing your name and your quote into the trash when they’re done with their coffee.”  Until that moment, I had never visualized the mass destruction of my cups in just that manner, but this is one of the benefits of having children: they keep our egos in check.

Fortunately, I have recovered from my evening with the cosmetic surgery cartel, and I enjoyed the irony of going to the gym two days later and selling nearly a dozen books without the benefit of any makeup and in my workout clothes.

Friends are reporting sightings of my Starbucks cups, which is a healthy thing. Less healthy is my newfound resentment toward those paper sleeves that go around the cup to protect customers from burning their hands with a too-hot beverage. I used to think this was a clever invention. Now I realize that these sleeves prevent people from reading the quotes hidden underneath, which may prevent potential book sales. Clearly, these sleeves are a danger to writers everywhere, and must be destroyed en mass. Besides, we are a nation that has gone soft. My new motto is, if you can’t stand the heat, have a Dulce de Leche instead.

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