I got away from the fam tonight (could you hear the tires on my minivan squealing as I pulled away?) and strolled the mall. I worked up a thirst and ponied up to the bar at the Starbucks in the middle of Lenox Square. My usual Starbucks order is a Tall decaf soy latte – Tall because I’m cheap, decaf because I like getting to sleep at night, and soy because it gives the drink the perfect amount of sweetness without extra sugar.
Tonight, in honor of feeling totally fried, I decided to up the ante and order a Grande. I ordered my drink but the barista (or partner or BFF or whatever Starbucks is calling their employees nowadays) seemed to have a bit of trouble:
Me: ‘I’ll have a Grande decaf soy latte.’
BFF: ‘Gotcha.’ He stepped to the side, gave me my change. Then, ‘You wanted a latte?’
Me: ‘Yeah, Grande decaf soy latte.’
BFF: ‘Gotcha.’ Then, ‘Non-fat milk?’
Me: (pause) ‘Soy.’
Whew. Glad we cleared that up… Still, at the other end of the bar, I ended up with a Tall decaf soy latte in my hand. I sat down for a few minutes, ate a snack, checked my receipt. Yup, I had paid for a Grande. This is the kind of person I am – I had to sit down at one of those tiny tables for a few minutes to work up the nerve to go back to the counter and ask for the drink I had paid for. But I must have pointed out the mistake the right way – they upgraded me to a Venti.
I can wax poetic about Starbucks. It’s not about the coffee – good god, I make better stuff in my kitchen. Starbucks can go on and on about its blends and its coffee growers and whatnot – ppfffftt. They know and I know that Starbucks is about one thing only – selling the American dream, one overpriced white-and-green-logoed cup at a time. Starbucks is about the cup in your hand, the way it feels, the way it smells, the way you feel walking around with it – not what’s in the cup.
So, here’s what we’ve learned about me in the past week – I’m a sucker for Disney and Starbucks. Would you like to hear about my Toyota Sienna next?