Many Sunday mornings I can be found in Gaylord’s, a coffee shop on Piedmont Avenue.  It’s a hip little mom and pop place staffed by people with colorful hair and multiple piercings.

On the block directly adjacent to Gaylord’s, in full view of its patrons, is a Starbucks.  There’s little hair coloration there and even fewer piercings.  A lot of briefcases, though.  And palm pilots.  And laptops.

I don’t get involved in the whole “down with evil corporations” thing.  (Except those Bechtel folks and maybe Dolly Madison.  I don’t trust Dolly Madison. She looks warm and nurturing but serves up cavity-inducing desserts to impressionable children?  I bet she also tried to eat Hansel and Gretel.) I frequent Gaylord’s for two reasons: the layout is more open and sunny, and they make a killer cafe au lait. (Or “Cafe Ole’!!!” as the staff shouts whenever they serve one up.) I don’t take sides.  Heck, I often go to Starbucks during the work week. 

But after staying in Gaylord’s for an hour or two, surrounded by punks and goths and grad students reading Frantz Fanon and Noam Chomsky, while the speaker plays Cat Power and Deathcab for Cutie, the vibe gets to you.  You begin to sneer at those Starbucks people through the window.  You seethe with self-righteous discontent.

When you get up to leave, caffeine buzzing in your soul, you have an overwhelming urge to wave a sign in front of their door.  I don’t know what the sign would say--maybe “STOP STARBUCKS FROM KICKING HELPLESS KITTENS” or whatever they’re accused of doing these days.  Or maybe hassle the people sitting inside: “Did you enjoy your homogenized beverage?  And did you pick up a wonderful CD sampler of World Music Classics, handpicked by Starbucks marketing executives to ensure an authentic multicultural experience?” Or failing that, maybe just moon them all.

If you read about me being arrested for public indecency some day, you’ll know that I didn’t make it off Piedmont Avenue before the buzz from the Cafe Ole’!!! wore off.