Anyone that knows me knows I like coffee. I don't just like coffee, I NEED coffee. At least one first thing in the morning. This is what I look like, every single morning just before my first cup of coffee.
I kid you not, that's exactly what I look like before my first morning coffee. All it takes is three sips and I'm back to looking like this. Not much of an improvement, I know, but at least the city dog catcher stops trying to shoot me with tranquilizer darts. Anyways, A few weeks ago during the holidays, I wasn't feeling that well. It wasn't anything big, just a sore throat and a cough that kept me up ALL FRIGGING night. Over the Christmas break, I looked like the above whether I had a morning coffee or not. I was in need of some throat medicine bad, so I hauled my ass off the couch, got dressed and headed out.
After a few minutes of driving, I was feeling quite a bit better. Maybe it getting out and moving around, but most likely it was the exhaust leaking into the cab of my beat up peace of crap jalopy making me delirious. Whatever the case, I decided to head over to the big new plaza on the other side of town to check out the big new fancy shoppers drug mart. Because this was Christmas, and everybody was out spending money they didn't have, the parking lot was packed. I ended up taking a spot way way out in the back of the parking lot, which was the only one available at the time. I got out of the truck, and waved to my neighbor, before making the 3 kilometer trek into the plaza. In retrospect, I really should have taken the bus.
So, half an hour later I come out of the drug store. This being a super store had four kilometers of cough remedies. I was thoroughly frustrated and pissed off. I had something that I THOUGHT was for coughs, but it could have easily been a suppository. I dunno, it did taste real funny. Needing to blow off some steam, I scanned the strip mall and spotted a Starbucks. "Aha!" thought I, "A nice hot black coffee will put me in a good frame of mind!" So I headed off to the Starbucks.
I've never been to a Starbucks before. I heard it was a bit different, somewhat upscale, but nothing out of the ordinary. So I go in to get my usual shot of a large coffee, black, no sugar. That's the way coffee was meant to be, right? Hey, don't knock it - once you go black, you never go back. That actually is an accurate saying.... for coffee. That's it.
As I walk into the store, I notice a few things. First , I doesn't look like a coffee shop at all. It looks like a lounge. A lounge for people without jobs that spend their entire day sucking back coffee. There's very few tables and chairs. Instead, there are couches, plush chairs, and coffee tables. Lots of magazines, and many exotic looking plants that look like they need idiot plant people talking to them to keep them alive. People, not my kind of place. If you haven't figured me out by now, I'm quite the no nonsense type of guy, and I'm not afraid to speak my mind. Today was no different.
There's a few people ahead of me. The first guy looks to be 60 or so, balding on top with a pony tail, a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, and a fucking pipe sticking out of his front pocket. He opens his mouth and says " iced-decaf-triple-grande-five pump-soy-no whip-Mocha".
There's a flurry of activity behind the counter, and five minutes later the girl hands him a drink that looks more like a big cup of whale spooge than a coffee. He pays her and goes back to his plush comfy seat. The next person up was a girl. This was the kind of girl that was kind of ugly in a pretty sort of way that wants nothing to do with you even though you're more than good enough for her but she thinks she's all that and a bag of chips but isn't. You know, the kind of person you just want to punch. She orders something similar, but a bit longer. Do these people even sell coffee, and do the people that come to this store really know what a coffee is all about?
It's my turn. I step up as the girl behind the counter asks me if I can help her. I can see that she has a relaxed appearance, but her eyes are tensing, like she's expecting me to order something ridiculous involving personal hardship to her. Like the other two did.
Theres no one behind me so I decide to take my time, even though I know what I want. Or I thought I knew what I wanted. I look up and my eyes bulge out of my head as I drink in the 30 foot long board that is the coffee menu. How the hell does a coffee menu become thirty feet long? Whatever, I'll just get my regular.
Me: Can I get a large....
Her: Venti....
Me: huh?
Her: Sir, a large here is a Venti. A medium is a Grande, and a small is a tall.
Me: A small is a tall?
Her: Yes.
Me: Why would a small be tall?
Her: Because, it's smaller than a Grande.
Me: Well that doesn't make any sense. A small isn't tall, a small is short. That's why it's called a small. As a matter of fact, it's shorter than the Grande and Venti. Shouldn't you call a small short? And if you were going to call a size tall, shouldn't it be the biggest?
Her: Sir....
Me: If I want a tall glass of beer, or a tall drink of water, don't you think I'd get irritated if it was served in a thimble?
Her (starting to get visibly agitated): Sir, I didn't make this up ok?
Me: Ok, I'll take a VENTI coffee.
Her: What kind?
Me: Black.
Her: No, what KIND of coffee?
I looked behind her only to see a row of a dozen coffee warmers with exotic names. Brazillian, Columbian, mild, dark, hazel nut, blah blah blah blah blah!
Me: Hey, do you have any cat poo coffee?
Her (looking at me strangely now): What in the WORLD is cat poo coffee?!?!?!?!
Me: Ok ok, I'm ready to order
Her: Ok, what'll it be?
Me (deciding to push the envelope): I'll have a medium tall short venti grandi roast hazelnut octo pump frothed half calf decaf recaf bubbled brazillian columbian with 13% expresso served in a bowl after being filtered through rat scrotum and liberally sprinkled with no more than 43 molecules of cinnamon.
I, of course, said that all with a straight face.
She threatened to call security.
I asked if the 60 year old hippie lighting up a doob in the corner was the security guard.
In the end I ended up with a large (Venti) dark roast coffee. She charged me $2.10 for the privalege. I took a sip of this ultra expensive fancy coffee and damned near spit it out. It was BURNT. This coffee was burnt crap!
I shall never purchase Starbucks coffee again. It's expensive, it tastes like shit, and I'm just not a pretentious hippie coolio wanna be anyways. But I shall always remember the fun that I had at a poor Starbucks employee's expense.
