A True St*rbucks Story

The research paper craziness continues. I can feel my face settling into the next minute, year, decade of my age. This happens when one imposes self-exile in one's darkened room with nothing but a glowing screen and piles of paper for company and then ventures out into the sun to forage for food.

I enter the only coffeeshop within walking distance on my way to the American answer to Purity, and playing on the stereo--could it be--the real article: Toots and the Maytals? I'm impressed, but then wonder whether the reggae gods had been co-opted into the St*rbucks universe. Perhaps the clerks were playing this to promote "The St*rbucks Collection of Classic Yet Cool Tracks to Play in Your Vehicle to Show that You Are Neither Square Nor Culturally Irrelevant". I look around while waiting for my deliberately uncomplicated order. There are post golfus-looking men and khaki-clad women with high waists tapping their feet, almost on-beat, to Toots' stellar cover of "Country Roads" set to Jamaican themes. Confusing. There was only one way to find out.

"Hey," I said casually to the all-American, corn-fed-featured sandy blonde girl behind the counter, "is this... Toots and the Maytals?" Riding on an inchoate smile, my tone strove for genuine curiosity mixed with awe and appreciation.

"Oh, I don't know [what this is]." She sounded bored.

That answered the question, more or less.

The good news is that probably, no, Toots has not been slurped up by this emporium empire and if anything, has staked out a little room in the heart of whichever barista put them on the stereo and made those Eddie Bauers rock out in their own special way.