- May 4, 2024
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It’s good to be the 1%.
As I type these words, I sip coffee from a rare, limited-edition Panera Bread travel mug. The cup is one of just 500 of its kind in the county, given free to only the upper-crust elite who shed blood, sleep and tears to be one of the store’s first 100 patrons the first days of its opening.
So, in a county of about 95,000, I suppose I’m actually the 0.5%. But who’s counting?
“Yep, this sure is the life,” I said, plopped into a lawn chair in Panera’s freshly paved parking lot. It was before 5 a.m. and already people were milling toward the door. But make no mistake: we were there first — myself, Sports Editor Andrew O’Brien and a buddy, Orion, who arrived before everyone, blasting rap from his car speakers as he waited to claim a place in Palm Coast history.
“I know if I miss this, I’ll regret it forever,” he’d said the night before, understanding just exactly what was at stake here.
Palm Coast has no Apple stores. We have no malls or sports arenas. So when something big happens — say, a new iPhone drops or it’s World Series time — it’s unlikely a Flagler resident will ever get to be the first in line.
But this was different. Palm Coast now has a Panera. Within two years, it’ll have a second. In time, who knows what else will come?
So, in that way, the mug was more than just a mug. It was a trophy commemorating a turning point, proving we were there to watch the city change.
“I just can’t stop thinking about when I’m a grandfather,” I said to Andrew and Orion, gazing at the moon and grinning, tiny cracks forming in my green and gold face paint. “My grandkids, they’ll never believe I was here. Maybe, if they’re careful, I’ll even let them take a swig or two from the holy chalice.”
There comes a time in every Palm Coaster’s life when he must accept his city’s limitations and learn to relish in its milestones. Seize the day. Carpe travel mug.
“Forget your grandkids,” Andrew scoffed, picking lint from his giant foam finger. “I’m bringing the mug to clubs. Any idea how easy it’ll be to impress girls with one of those bad boys in hand? Shooting fish in a barrel, man.”
“I think I’ll get a ‘No. 1’ anodized on the bottom,” Orion said thoughtfully, “just so I never forget.”
Ten minutes before opening, the line was almost 40 people strong. When the doors opened, there was a mad rush. I felt bodies below my feet but did what I needed to get inside.
This was Panera. This was history. Nothing would stop me.
Heaving, I made it to the counter and leaned toward the register.
“Gimme a bagel and a cup a joe, will ya, toots?” I told the cashier. “Oh, and I’ll need one of those travel mugs, too — gratis, of course.”
Then I threw her a wink and spun around, Michael Jackson-style, because who am I to argue with celebratory urges?
At about 7 a.m., breakfast was over, and the sun began to creep above the tree line. I hoisted my mug over my head like the Stanley Cup and demanded that Andrew and Orion lift me on their shoulders to parade me out the restaurant.
After all, I’d earned it. This was Panera. This was history. It was like being in the front row at Woodstock and catching a guitar pick from Jimi Hendrix just after he rocked “The Star Spangled Banner.”
It was exactly like that — except, you know, in travel mug terms.
