There's a new drive-thru coffee place that recently opened in North Seattle. (If you've ever been to Seattle, you're familiar with drive-thru coffee: little huts usually housing two women steaming milk, brewing drip and taking your money with their black-tipped fingernails.)
This new one is called "Chicka Latte" and the tagline is "Beautiful Coffee".
Upon first glance at their sign, I thought it featured mudflap girl. Kitty Cat and I took a closer look this morning, though, and found this:
Garumph. I'm prudish, I guess.
I think part of the problem is that I am familiar with the man who opened this place. I don't know him, really, or know his name, but he was getting his hair cut once when I took Fruit Bat in for a trim. He talked on his cell phone while the poor stylist tried to snip at the fringe wreathing his skull. He explained that he was starting a business, and loosely what it was, but didn't shorten (or, dog forbid, FOREGO) his call to accomodate the stylist or those of us in line behind him.
He came across as an arrogant fool, and I don't suffer those well.
When I first saw the Chicka Latte sign, I thought, Of course. Of course.
Next I wondered if the business name and sign were merely meant to catch the eyes of, well, anyone careening past, or if it was some gimmick, like Hooters, where the baristas would be dressed in shredded t-shirts and daisy dukes (not that I know what Hooters' waitresses wear, I'm only surmising).
Yes, indeedy, Chicka Latte is Seattle drive-thru coffee's answer to the Hooters of the world. Though they've twisted the premise a bit. The first woman I saw wore a tall, pink victorian wig, with Raggedy-Ann like spots of crimson on her cheeks, heavy eye makeup and (surprise!) a low-cut barmaid-ish dress. Her cohort was ragged out in something similar, only she sported pigtails and freckles.
I asked if the costumes were for Halloween or everyday. They said they wore them everyday. They said it was lots of fun. They were extremely friendly and helpful and even gave Kitty Cat a giant lollipop. I gave them a 50% tip.
It may be fun. It may be campy and even a little cool, but at the same time, I keep picturing that doofus baldy getting his hair cut and talking on his cell phone, continually referring to his girls, and I can't help think of a wannabe Hugh Hefner.
I can't help shaking my head a little and wanting to shield Kitty Cat's eyes everytime we drive that way to Target.