Nina In New York: C Is For Cookie...Oh, Not Even Close
A young professional's take on the trials and tribulations of everyday life in New York City.
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By Nina Pajak
Yesterday, Gawker released a roundup of the dirtiest Starbucks locations in the city. At the top of the list (and in the headline) was the one located in Rockefeller Center, which has a C rating and is reportedly "teeming with 'live mice.'"
Despite the speculation, I can report to all concerned parties that I, too, frequent the Rockefeller Center concourse, and I have never seen Brian Williams or any cast member from 30 Rock waiting in line for a venti skinny no whip frappawhosits. Rest assured if I did, I'd have acquired myself a restraining order or two by now. Not the bad, scary kind. The good, "but I love you" kind. Just kidding! I swear.
Moving on.
The fact is, I broke this story over a week ago, and I've been crowing about it ever since. It'll be helpful to have some context.
You see, when it comes to my morning coffee I'm a Dunkin' Donuts girl. They have an outpost in the concourse not far from the Starbucks and directly in front of the subway exit, and I frequent them most every day. It's not because I'm cheap. It's not because I'm lazy. And while I like their coffee very much, I also dislike Starbucks' coffee equally so. For this aesthetic choice, I am frequently mocked by certain of my coworkers. Okay, perhaps the styrofoam cups are a little garish and passe. Perhaps DD lacks a certain snobbish Olsen twin panache which Starbucks has achieved. I don't care. No one will ever break me of this preference. I'm perfectly happy where I am.
So last week one of my Starbucks-loyal coworkers and I headed down to the concourse to grab large coffees in anticipation of a deadly long afternoon meeting. I went to Dunkin', and she walked ahead to Starbucks. And because my line was very fast-moving and hers slow and meandering, I went in to wait with her after I got my beverage. And that's when I saw it: A big, glowing orange "C" in the window.
I threw the door open and ran up to her, so eager to report my discovery that I interrupted her while she was giving her order to the totally silly line-runner with a headset who serves as customer-to-barista communique. When I told her, she got very pale and serious.
"No," she said.
"Yes!" I cawed.
"How did I miss that?" she fretted.
"I dunno. Temporary rat-ebola-induced blindness?"
On our way back upstairs and for the rest of the afternoon, I entertained myself by rattling off various pneumonic devices from which she and my other DD-hating coworkers could benefit. I've turned them into a little poem.
C is for Closed, ought to be.
C is for Choking on mouse hairs and poo
C is for Coli, preceded by E.
C is for Cleaning, which we don't do.
C is for Cockroach, obviously.
I'll bet Dunkin's looking pret-ty good to you.
It's a work in progress.
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Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I'm always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions.
Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.
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