But the Gold Bar tries, Goddammit. They really do. I did a little research, found out they existed since 1994, so it's not their fault they've been cornered and pooped on by the biggest coffee conglomerate in the world. Wait, the world? Is Starbucks really that big? I already did my research. Through with the research for today.
If anything, the name alone is peculiar. It brings to mind an entire room molded out of gold, or instead of the building made of brick, bars of gold line the walls. Hell, the name makes you think it's a bar. There's so much confusion and disorientation, how can you not wanna stop on by?
Which I did, of course.
From the outside, you're not given much to go on, save for the fact that I'm a terrible photographer. If it's any excuse, I'm inside the safety of my car, and the angle was hard and all sorts of fucked up. Because there is no way I'm going to stand in front of the place and actively snap a photo, with thousands of gazing passerby looking in my direction. What passerby? That passerby:
Two dudes sipping on a cup of Joe. Not even sure if they're even doing that, but it doesn't change the fact that they're there, minding their own business, and NOT being bothered by a weirdo with a moderately modern smart phone.
Plus, the bald guy looks tough. In a "cut-off blue jeans" sorta way.
I went in, stood at the counter and carefully went over the menu. Coffee, standard mix of baked goods and desserts, whatever. I waited for a good five minutes, carefully deciding and planning.
And I waited some more.
Normally, the wait would be absurd, which it was, but the game instantly changed after that. Time was of no concern. 'Cause shit just got real.
My barrista, late and nonchalant, finally made her appearance...and was super cute.
I was taken aback. You can't expect everyone you run into to be a slob like yourself, but nothing makes you feel more like a slob like a hot girl in a coffee shop taking your drink order. I instantly thought of my clothes, how they weren't cool enough, my unshaven and pube-like facial hair -- it was a blast of instant regret for the last three weeks of personal grooming procrastination.
What-the-fuck-ever. I'm an adult. A grown man, I say! Someone like me doesn't revert to high-school antics by stammering and stuttering when face to face with a pretty girl. It's absurd! It's outrageous! It's exactly what I did!
Oh, well. I ordered a small coffee to go, loaded it with cream and walked out. Good thing I was befuddled enough to totally forget to take photos of the inside, right? Right!
Not sure what I did, or how I came off looking, but I decided the best route was to walk back in acting like "a guy who changed his mind on where to sit." Did a lot of "hmm" faces, looked left and right, stroked my chin and took a seat in the back, which was kinda the worst idea ever. From that vantage point, I couldn't get a single image of anything besides a wooden post and a tray, which also looks wooden. I was flustered, annoyed and getting the overwhelming sense that people thought I was up to no good.
Not pictured: comfy couches and many chairs in the corner, a section for a band to set up to play soft, coffee accompanying music, books and paintings and stained glass windows lining the walls. A total nook in every sense of the word, like a library you'd find lonely detectives and anyone who smokes from a pipe.
You can blame the lack of pictures on that girl, or the fact that I label this review as "quick and crappy." If there's one thing about me, it's that I stay true to my word. Crap is what I offered, and crap is what you'll get.
And is what you just got.
Oh, and the coffee was alright. I mean, it was good, but it's just coffee.
Am I right or am I right?
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