A Typical Melissa Experience

Ahh, Target. Who doesn’t like Target? I mean common, where else can you get milk, a new mini fridge, a garden hose, and a trendy blazer? Ok, well maybe Wal-Mart, but regardless, there is something about Target that is just plain appealing. Maybe it’s its openness, or possibility the amount of colors that fly out at you in every section, or could it be the fact that everything is decently priced, so it inspires one to purchase two pairs of 12 dollar dress shoes, when they really only need one pair… but they were 12 dollars right? Target, a shopping experience for thousands--let me tell you about mine.
It was Saturday. For most college students Saturday doesn’t really begin much before one. Don’t ask me what happens prior to one, but somehow, it’s one, and you’re lucky if you’ve accomplished eating yet.
It was 1:05, and my friend Becky and I were getting ready to go read out by the illustrious fountain, when suddenly I got the bright idea of Target. Now Becky and I don’t have cars, and Target is at least 5 miles away, but why should that stop us? In our growing brilliance we decided to be city-like and take the bus down by the Starbucks. Now, I don’t take buses. Not that there is anything wrong with a bus, they are inexpensive, environmentally friendly, and a logical way of transportation when you don’t have a car, but regardless buses aren’t usually an option. But today, Beck and I were feeling rather adventurous, and so with that in mind, we walked the half mile to the bus stop, still not completely sure where on imperial hwy the stop was, and set out for the well worth journey to Target.
45 minutes and a Starbucks drink later the bus that is supposed to come every thirty minutes wasn’t there. The only thing we were able to make out were the shady cars that gawked at us as we sat on the bench. Turns out the bus had a little “accident,” whatever that means, and was 30 minutes off schedule. You would think the idea of a “little accident” would be a clue, would be the foreshadowing to the rest of our day, but for some reason we were so delighted by the thought of Target, it didn’t stop us.
Thirty minutes later Bus number 4 rolled up, in a panic we jumped on. The driver looked at me as if I was insane as I asked her in an extremely concerned tone if the bus went to Target. Clearly she did not understand the joy of Target like Becky and I did. The bus proceeded, and I would like to say it was an enjoyable ride, but the lack of a seat belt, the fact that I was facing sideways to the driver, and the exhaust smell made it, well slightly nauseating. But we persisted, as dedicated shoppers do, and in a fury I saw it—Target. I pulled on the cord, like I had seen the other bus savvy riders do when they saw their desired destination, and the bus halted.
I will not elaborate on the experience at Target. It was good. Was it as good as we had anticipated? Well to be honest, with the amount of effort we put into this trip, I don’t think Disneyland itself would have been good enough. But in about 40 minutes two tired shoppers walked back, bags and all, to bus stop number 4.
We sat there…and sat…and then consequently, we sat some more. Finally Becky got anxious, so we started to walk, hoping to get a bus stop further down. Right as we got about a half a block down, we saw it, bus number 4. In a fury I ran, and then I realized it was going the wrong way, I spotted the bus on the other side of the street that was going the right way. This time slightly more panicked I tried to dash toward the bus, but the excessive laughing, bags, and the fact that the “no walk,” or rather “hand” symbol was mocking me on the other side of the sidewalk, it hindered my ability to catch the bus.
Becky and I continued our quest walking toward Biola. Occasionally we would catch sight of bus number 4, and we watched it passed us lowly pedestrians who couldn’t manage to catch a bus. About 5 miles or more, and roughly two hours later, Becky and I made it to Biola. I think I finally understand how the pioneers felt. Ok, so maybe an exaggeration. But you see, through it all, what is important is that we got to go to Target, right? Would I do it again? Yes, in a car next time though. But the funny thing is Becky and I had a lot of fun, and who knows we might even make t-shirts, “I’ve been to Norwalk, and Back.” Or scratch that, maybe I’ll just retire the experience in this blog…

Tall Grande Decaf Vanilla Latte--Whip-Whip (whatever that means)...

Nobody is a stranger in Starbucks, and if you are, it is quite likely it’s because you want to be. What I mean is, everyone has their place. Sure your place may be the quiet intellect in the corner, or the shady man who always sits by the sugar and cream table; but in the world of Starbucks that is your place, and having your place is what makes you not a stranger. Some people race in, heals grinding against tile, keys fumbling, eyes have that “ready for coffee” look, and they grumble their usual order as they think to themselves how much better the world would be if every Starbucks had a drive through. Then, of course there are the shady characters. The ones who sit in the side corner and half read half stare at every customer who enters. If you came to Starbucks often you would probably see them everyday, but if you are one of the first type of customers that I described you would most likely be in too much of a hurry to recognize their presence. Then of course you have the Starbucks intellect, possibly the over worked college student, or perhaps the determined writer who sits in a corner with a laptop or book for hours on end. They seem to drink up whatever it is they are working on, then every so often they will peer up with this weary look, gazing off into eons of space or staring in shock out the window as if they had forgotten about the world outside, and then, at last they will resume to their work. You can not forget the children of Starbucks, usually eyeing the most sugar loaded drink on the menu, as they fumble with the 5 dollar bill their mom gave them in the palm of their sticky hand. Or what about the happy couple, or the two chatty girls in the corner, they are the color of Starbucks, the ones that bring any amount of happiness to the place at all, as they seem to not have a deep desire for anything but good friendship and the drink itself.
One thing I notice about Starbucks is that it’s a place where it’s ok to be alone. Being alone is actually the trendy thing. Aback in the corner, always the corner, zeroing in on the object of amusement, and basking in the aloneness of your day, whether it is your choice to be alone or not does not matter.
One must not forget the music of Starbucks, the classy jazz that becomes engrained in your skull when you are sitting there, but later you seem to never remember the jazzy melody.
Starbucks is a place where everyone can feel sophisticated, with the classy music, the dark rich olives, charcoals, and maroons of the walls. Even if you are poorer then dirt, you can sit here for as long as you want, you can have a place, belong to something, or perhaps, belong to nothing—but at Starbucks no one will question it.