Indianapolis Coffee Houses: Borders

I’m officially back to doing Coffee House reviews. But I’ve ditched the “real” coffee houses because, frankly, they suck. The smell of cheap patchouli is nauseating, and they’re lousy places to look for non-wiccan chicks. Loner roosting pads at best, as far as I’m concerned.
So onward I go…to the Great Corporate Chain Bookstore! America, we’ve done it again. I’ve never seen so much printed schlock in one overpriced space, but here it is. I’m convinced that if I spent about an hour rearranging the “new-in-print” and “staff picks” sections to my liking, it would raise the IQ of north Indianapolis by several points, but that’s a bone to pick another time.
Anyway, let’s talk babes!! And maybe some coffee, too. I’ve picked the Borders Books at River Crossing, or Keystone Crossing, or maybe El Paso Border Crossing. It turns out there are lots of women here on a Saturday night; few of them are sporting Goth gear or nose rings, Thank God. Suddenly, my sonar locks on a target. She’s fairly pretty; is she married? Good God, I can’t tell. She walks up to some pimply kid who must be her son. Am I losing my mind? I thought she was doubling back toward me. Was she flirting? Maybe she wasn’t. But damn, you can’t really tell! Maybe she just got really bored while waiting for the little crumb-cruncher to finish up his resource search.
A sip of my (now lukewarm) caramel latte hits the spot, with a bounty of flavor. At this point I hardly care; I’ve been too busy typing and scoping for hotties at the same time. There are a lot of chicks, but most of them have a beau in tow. Thankfully, not all of them. An auburn-haired goddess with moist green eyes, porcelain skin, and a pageboy haircut came in about 15 minutes ago. Now she’s sitting catty-corner from me at the far edge of the Café, next to the magazines. Well…she looks a bit young for me (well under 30). Hell with it, I’ve showed up on a Saturday night to get out of my comfort zone and try socializing for a change, so why does it matter? She looks over in my direction a bit. About 8 feet away from her is a spiky-haired, spends-a-lot-of-time-at-the-YMCA-looking Japanese dude. He fires off frequent 30-second phone calls while watching black-and-white podcasts on his laptop. His head swivels around incessantly, like a bobble-head doll….it bobs a little too often, you know what I mean? About every five minutes he stands up, throws a leg up on the table, and does deep bends and stretches. DING*DING*DING! We’ve got a winner in the Screaming Flamer Sweepstakes!!
This is good, very good. I can get up my courage and make some quick words with the girl….no bystanders will notice if I bumble a bit, not with Mr. Sassy-Pants nearby!
I decide to go stand around the magazine section and do some “browsing”. I fall into a holding pattern that lasts for at least 30 minutes. Occasionally, I peer over the magazine rack on tiptoe so I can view this wondrous auburn creature. I find myself in angst over which publication I should be holding as a “prop”. How about something I actually want to read, like “Motor Trend”? Too plebeian. Let’s grab something suitably “bookstore pretentious”. How about “Downbeat”? I pick it up, turn to the table of contents, and…Gaack!! Who actually READS this stale-as-dog-turds bloviation about the newest in post-fusion jazz schlock? I don’t think Duke Ellington would approve. I hold onto it anyway, since the paper is very glossy and pretty and no one cares what’s on it. I hover in front of Architectural Digest, lope on over toward the girl…..stop. I catch a glimpse of her stretching and yawning, sitting cross-legged in a brown vinyl chair, and it stirs memories of the nubile young things of the Student Union lounge, back in the day. I make my final creep, silently approaching (I can hear my heart beating)…. here I go. The girl could not have been more charming and polite. I was truly blown away. I introduced myself as Ross, and asked if she’d want to go out for lunch sometime. In a lovely, lilted voice, she said: “Well, actually I’m seeing someone, but thanks for the compliment (with a shy-girl titter). You’re a handsome guy.” She melted me right there, what a sweetie! The moment closing fast, I took in her gorgeous peaches-and-cream complexion, and her heavenly light blue eyes (with an endearing drowsy redness to the whites). She reminded me of one of those French Renoir paintings. I finally turn and go back to my seat. A few minutes later, I start walking towards the door. I glance her way, and she catches my eye; she gives me a bright grin and a nice wave, her dainty little fingers fluttering. Well, I assure you, it was certainly worth the nerves. I’ll be back here soon. In the opinion of the reviewer, Lovely Miss Auburn rates 4 stars. The coffee was fine; I’ll give Borders 4 stars, too.