Here I sit in my not so local Barnes and Noble café enjoying a fake version of my favorite tea “hot cinnamon sunrise” and my apple jammy jam (totally official name, by the way) and I am thinking I have myself a wonderful little slice of corporate heaven. I can drink my tea, get fat off the dessert and people watch out the window as I rest with my feet up in an air-conditioned death chamber. I can write if I want to or I could stand up and sing show tunes. The future is all up to me.

I am conditioned to see this as happiness.

But God is a funny God.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see an older woman approaching. She has a small basket filled with B and N products ranging from the daily newspaper to books on getting away to Miami and harvesting ones’ energy. She has the basket in one hand and a huge cup of coffee in the other. With gut induced accuracy, I know exactly where she is going to sit. There are a million other empty seats in the café, but no…she is going to sit at the table opposite of me. Not only does she sit there blocking my view of people heading to the make-up store or the shoe store, but also she sits so her back is to the window. If I develop a writing brain fart, I now get to stare at her slurping her coffee and pray she doesn’t think I am deliberately looking at her.

I have no choice. I have to look at her. She has two pairs of glasses. I find that odd. Why have two? Are you that vain that you don’t want to be caught dead wearing bi-focal lenses? Yet, it is okay to have two pairs of glasses, which I am fairly sure you forget one or the other on a daily basis.

She is wearing black sandals with stockings. Last time I checked, it is summer. Hold on, let me go check outside to make sure I didn’t slip into a coma and suddenly miss summer. Yup, it is still hot out and oh look, there is the sun. Because it is indeed still summer, what compels anyone to stuff her sweaty feet into pantyhose and then wear breathable sandals? If your feet are too ugly for the public to see, then wear sneakers or dress shoes. Get rid of the damn open toed shoes.

But this isn’t the worst of my café blues.

After ordering my tea and jammy jam, I started looking for the tip cup. I always thought that is socially appropriate when someone in the food industry handles your food, you need to tip them. I like to think of it as not a tip for good work, but more of an “insurance policy” tip. It is like I am saying, “here is a dollar, do not spit in my tea or scratch yourself any where near my food”.

I was perplexed to see the tip cup missing. I asked the dude behind the counter (official name by the way) where it was and he told me that they couldn’t have tip cups anymore because the people in the café can’t make more then the booksellers.

I think that this is just madness. I feel like it is just another way for booksellers to belittle another person’s job. No one can be higher then the might bookseller!

Are you serious? Let’s be honest, if it weren’t for the mixture of the café and the books, B and N would not be such a happening spot. Where else can you fill up on caffeine and read magazines at the same time? You can take a cornucopia of books with you into the café and look through them. Do you know how much money I have saved on books because I was able to read the first chapter in the bookstore? Sure, that money still went to the store as a whole because I bought seven cups of tea, but that isn’t the point.

The booksellers shouldn’t be nitpicking. They should be working together. They couldn’t do as well without the other one and it is a shame that the booksellers are all jumping on the café personnel’s tips.

Look for Part 2 tomorrow when I see this from the booksellers Point of View:).