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I was headed towards Union Square to shop for a birthday gift for my
mother. Shopping, unfortunately, has never been my forté. My mother taught me well how to overcome so many
of life's little obstacles; but shopping simply wasn't something I could master. I just didn't have it in me. And
several stores later, I found myself as empty handed as when I had begun. Yes, four hours and I couldn't find a
single thing to buy her. (Yet, put me in front of a New York Times crossword puzzle and just watch me go. And in
pen to boot!)
I was frustrated. I was tired. And I was ready to throw in the towel and order the first thing on FTD.com that
cost under $50. To hell with originality. Anyway, she's my mom; I'm sure she'd understand, I figured. Besides,
it's the thought that counts, right? (The thought that ran through my mind, however, was the guilt my mother would
lay on me when she received said bouquet. I was certain my brothers and sisters would come up with something far
superior. Fuckers.)
I decided to give it another shot. But I'd need a pick-me-up if I was going to make it through one more gift warehouse,
or clothes shop, or Virgin Megastore. (Fine, that last one was for me, but I deserved something for my troubles.)
What I needed was a cup of coffee.
I didn't have far to look. There was a Starbucks not ten feet from where I was standing. (Surprise, surprise.)
No, I'm no fan of Starbucks, except that, at the very least, I'm glad that I never have to search very far for
that life sustaining fluid: my good friend, Joe. Starbucks, in my humble opinion, is crap. Bitter, watery, crap.
Crappy Joe. (Yes, I'm a fair weather friend. So sue me.) In any case, if I was going to find that elusive birthday
gift, it was either get perked up at Starbucks or settle on the FTD® Birthday Party® Bouquet; and the latter
was sure to put me in the doghouse with my usually adoring mother.
I eagerly ordered my super-huge 20-ounce Venti Arabian Mocha Java. (Venti, apparently, means 20 in Italian; how
smart the good people at Starbucks are!) Smoother and richer than most of the other coffee selections they offer,
but still watery crap, just the same. Fine, I too was bitter by that point, but shopping for a parent is a high
stress activity. After all, she gave me the gift of life, the least I could do was come up with a suitable present.
I drank my cup of java and chowed down on a surprisingly tasty blueberry muffin. And then I was off and running
again; just knowing that the perfect gift was somewhere close by and waiting for me to buy it. I tore down the
sidewalk and anxiously scanned each passing window display. "Call to me, oh perfect gift. Call to me,"
I intoned, just barely under my breath. Downtown is just full of people talking to themselves, so my mantra didn't
even merit a second glance from any of the fellow shoppers that passed by.
But that's when I got suddenly sidetracked. Tongue twistered is more like it: I was Starbucks suddenly sidetracked.
For there, not fifty feet from where I had just emerged, was another Starbucks. I did a double take to make sure
I hadn't somehow been walking in circles. (A hard feat, mind you, since I was going in a straight line at the time.)
But no, I wasn't mistaken; there was another identical location within eyeshot.
How strange, I thought. How unnecessary, I added. But c'est la vie. Who am I to pass judgment? I'm sure that extra
fifty feet was simply too far out of range for a lot of people to muster. Or maybe one was there for anyone that
needed a second cup a short while after the first.
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