Some of the guys that work at Starbucks have the lines down pat.
Its got major foot traffic of young single women, these boys bring their A game.
I am at a Starbucks in which the all male staff are players.
But the cashier is the worse.
Or best, depends on your point of view.
He is a young Italian kid.
Long eyelashes over dark brown eyes.
And every woman that comes to the counter gets worked over with what I like to call the “Eye rape”.
Its almost like a second form of speech, over-laying everything he says.
What can I get you today?
How about I bite your neck?
How would you like that drink made?
What position do you like?
Thank you, come again.
Thank you, come again.
Sometimes, its the emphasis.
In a 5 minute period, I heard two different women invite him to a part.
I was not invited, but I am sure this party will be something akin to the Fire Island Barn dance.
I think he will find his dance card full on that one.
Do the math, in a 4 hour shift, this kid is closing like the Brentwood Century 21 realtor.
And someone should, don’t you think?
Everyone else out there is trying to hook up and find that someone special, and this kid is living the life of the head bartender in Studio 54 circa 1975.
Without the drugs of course, Starbucks does random testing on its employees.
And they don’t care if you have a Kush card or not.
Or maybe something more bizarre is going on.
They could be running some sort of gigolo java scheme to service well monied coffee fraus.
But I doubt it.
The cashier would have to be taller.
And speak French.
I am not sure why but every movie I can remember seeing with a gigolo, someone spoke French.
Just stuck in my head.
Richard Gere is an amazing actor.
He was the American Gigolo after all.
If you didn’t see it, it was this AMAZINGLY shitty film they made him do, early in his career.
This was before he made all that Pretty Woman F-U money and married super model Cindy Crawford and her mole.
Interruption – The Starbucks at Barnes and Noble has just started playing this hideous Gregorian Chant goes Bondage song.
Back to your blog.
There is a woman in her thirties that has been watching the cashier like like a starving Kenyan the whole time she has been in line.
She have on Mom jeans and a halter top.
What kind of message does that send anyway?
It is now her turn and she steps up to the plate.
The cashier goes with what has to be called the hot hand tonight.
The eye rape.
Works like a charm.
Looking closely, her nipples are now protruding.
And she responds with the hair flip, complete with the giggle.
Nicely played sir.