Starbucks, I mean. I absolutely LOVE Starbucks. My favorite is the grande, sugar free hazelnut, non-fat latte. I used to drink it with soy but it stops me up like the Hoover Dam. At my age, a latte and a slice of pumpkin loaf is WAY better than grape nuts.
If only I didn't have to watch the righteousness of the righteous on display at every Starbucks I walk into except for the one near where I work that has the best female (I'm referring to the patrons) viewing of any drinking establishment I've been to, bars included.
You've seen it too. A group of suburban, waspy looking WASPs, swarming around their mochas and Bibles, dissecting a passage from one of the Gospels, deep in purposefully audible discussion, looking for all the world like the scribes and Pharisees they roundly criticize. If you stomach hanging around long enough you'll get to hear them pray. Loudly once again. Like Pat Robertson on the 700 Club. Complete with furrowed brows.
So far I have resisted the temptation to walk up to their table and point out the obvious. That the Jesus they pretend to follow roundly condemned public displays of spirituality. I've wanted to SO many times, but that would be too obvious. One of them would surely and solemnly, but in the spirit of love, suggest that I was infringing on their Constitutional and God-given right to practice their religion as they pleased. Would it be wrong to beat this person over the head with his NIV? Probably.
I suppose I could just lead the sleepy crowd around them in a round of applause. But that would be rude. And obvious.
Maybe I should start looking for a Seattle's Best. It's Seattle, for god's sake. Liberals must gather there.
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