Today, it is life in the slow lane. At the Starbucks near my office, everyone from CNA Insurance and DePaul Law are in there. Everyone. The line double-curls around the service counter and almost out the door. It blocks the revolving door in.
The line isn't moving because people are not watching it - they're glaring at their little smartphone screens as if life itself depended on it, as if their text messages and emails are the most-important things in the universe.
"Did my boyfriend like the dinner I made for him last night?" "What time are me and the bff meeting for a drink?" "Ugh, I am not ready for this exam. Are you?" No, wait, "Uh, i am not reddy 4 this exam, r u?"
There. That's better.
Me, I want my hot cocoa and chocolate croissant (mmmmmm ... good). So I can get to my office and babble about these idiots.
The baristas and cashiers do work hard and hustle. Gotta' give 'em credit (and a nice tip). They keep it moving. Their customers don't.
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Everyone in line at the Metra train station ticket window has to have a conversation with the booth clerk. Everyone.
Updates on grandchildren, children and golf game, Gripes about the weather, the Cubs (what else is new?), the White Sox and skepticism about the Bears mysterious win at San Francisco.
How about swiping your credit card and buying your freakin' ticket? Geez.
Train's pulling in. Ain't gonna' make it now. Thanks, slowpokes. Thanks for nothing. And that picture of your grandkids, it's not Facebook worthy.
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