All's fair in love and war, and, in Boston, parking.

But in getting a seat at Starbucks? How far can you go before crossing the line between standard despicable Northeast Corridor aggression and actionable criminal behavior?

Sadly, the question's not an idle one. Have you gone to a coffee shop lately? Or, I should say, have you tried to go to a coffee shop lately?

Advances in technology have turned what were once places to sit and chat - and, ahem, leave - into offices, where ``workers'' settle in for the day. Between the laptops, cell phones and Internet access (and the decent coffee), these Starbucks-based employees (and their colleagues working away at Peet's and Seattle's Best Coffee, etc.) have no reason to punch out.

Ever.

Pity the patron who arrives at 10 a.m. - an hour after start of business - hoping to sit down while she drinks her $10 latte.

Remember (a lifetime ago) how we used to glamorize the French style of cafe-going? ``In Paris,'' we'd say, ``they let you sit in a cafe all day, nursing a tiny cup of espresso. The waiters leave you alone.''

Never mind that no one in this country is capable of nursing anything - we're a gulping people - or that our ``supersize it!'' culture would never fully embrace a beverage served in a thimble. It turns out that laissez-faire waiters aren't such a great idea after all.

The other day, after a prolonged period of glaring at the occupants of two tables got me nowhere, I would have welcomed the assistance of a broom-wielding barista. But I was on my own.

So what should I do?

I dismissed the idea of pulling the fire alarm, which is not only illegal but, when you figure the time it would take for everyone to file out and for the place to be declared safe to re-enter, not even practical.

I considered upping my glare to a menacing hover - but which table to hover near? As anyone who's played basketball or gone to the Filene's Basement wedding dress sale knows, it's hard to protect more than one player or dress or, in this case, table at a time. Holding a parking spot in the North End on a Saturday evening is child's play by comparison.

For practical as well as social reasons - what if someone I knew walked in while I was leaning over a table? - I decided against the physical approach.

Besides, I was getting hungry. Hey, that gave me an idea. Maybe I should invest in a few big brownies and then put them out as sample. ``Free brownies!'' I'd yell. In the melee, I'd snag a table.

Or perhaps I should sneak out, re-enter and then call out, as if I were being helpful, ``A meter maid's on the loose out there. Anyone driving a Honda or a Toyota?''

So there I was, going over my options, when I thought I detected motion at one of the tables. A woman seemed to be going, ever so slowly, for her purse. At the same time, two older women entered the shop and noticed a table might be opening. Unaware of my presence, they started heading over.

They seemed like nice women - they were grandmothers, probably - but a table's a table. I started to dart over, a self-righteous ``I was waiting for that table'' on my lips, when it became clear that the woman who'd set off the excitement was just going to the ladies room.

I was about to head back to my corner to continue my deathwatch when I realized coffee was the last thing I needed. A stiff drink was called for. I grabbed my bag and headed for a nearby bar. I was unconcerned that I was drinking midday. My only worry was that there would be no stool available.

Beth Teitell's column will appear on Tuesdays and Thursdays while she writes her book, ``From Here to Maternity: The Education of a Rookie Mom,'' to be published by Broadway Books next year.