The Daily Grind

The Daily Grind has good atmosphere this afternoon: light salsa CD on the stereo and high airy ceilings. The last time I came here to study it was the late '90s and I was cramming for an Old Testament exam. Scratch that, I think it was actually an exam in "Origins," the class I took on Christian evolutionary theory. (No time for questions on that one.) 

Today, instead of reading Stephen Jay Gould, I am sitting down with my old Blackberry from Pakistan to transcribe a few dozen pages of notes I wrote on my experiences while I was there, thumb-by-thumb. Why didn't I just keep a tiny notebook with me at all times, as Anne Lamont suggests in "Bird By Bird"? Let's just say between the bodyguard, the 12-hour workdays, and leaving the house wearing  drape-y shalwar kameeze, most days I was just happy that I remembered my Blackberry. 

An immediate boost for Daily Grind's grade is a large, extensive menu of made-to-order sandwiches, salads, two soups of the day (today we're minestrone and chicken gumbo), 14 different kinds of smoothies, and even fresh-squeezed veggie juice. (I picked up a veggie juice here a few months ago when I was pregnant and it made me feel very virtuous. Alas, it was disgusting.) 

There are lots of plusses here: McConnell's delicious ice cream shop is just across the street, but Daily Grind is off the beaten State Street path, so no tourists.  The wait staff is welcoming and friendly, and there are plenty of students with laptops (slacker quotient factor = solid) but also empty tables both inside and on the patio (which allows dogs!!) I am the oldest person in the building by at least 10 years. This is not necessarily one of the plusses, just a fact. 

(Isn't there a large, corporate chain called Daily Grind? As seen in the opening credits of the TV show "Weeds"?  Anyway, this is not that place. This Daily Grind screams independent, from their list of sandwiches named after places around Santa Barbara to decor that doesn't get more sophisticated than tacked-up license plates and a clearly stolen "Stop Ahead" yellow traffic sign.)

Two small flies in the ointment: the bathroom is only accessible by taking a huge, grimy restroom key around the side of the building and opening it yourself (ick), and the register is cash only. The last time I had to use cash, it was probably rupees. But there's an ATM in the corner if you're really hard up. 

My "Summerland" is on the way (avocado, cheese, tomato & sprouts on rye), so I settle in my chair beneath a rusty Arizona license plate and pull out my scratched, beaten-up Blackberry that hasn't been turned on since last May. 

Points for great food selection and a cheery vibe that says "stay as long as you like and next time bring Kima!" Deductions for locked bathroom (which, let's face it, would be better served across town at high-homeless-person-trafficked RoCo) and digging linty quarters out of my bag to cover the bill. 

The Daily Grind: A-

Update: Considering revising the grade downward, an hour later, as I am faced with the subtle yet pervasive scent of pee. Seeing as the entrance to the bathroom is actually outside, this seems impossible yet it is the case. Also salsa music just got turned up quite a bit. Wait: did the place close and I didn't get the hint? I am literally the only person here now. Might have to revise my own grade downward.