Me: I’ll take a grande coffee light frappaccino.
Him: Uhhhh…(long silence while his fingers draw big air circles over the register in search of the right button). What flavor?
Him: (More air signaling and searching) What size?
Him: (Pained look followed by what was almost drooling, then a grunt and then this:) Kind?
Me: Excuse me?
Him: Kind? (Louder than the first time)
Then the other barrista came over and said, “What is gonna be for huh?”
Him: The light base.
Her hand made wide, looping circles over the cups and then she glared at him.
Him: The coffee one.
She glared at him.
Her: Kind, not flavor.
Silence followed. Ten minutes later they handed me a frozen drink that looked for all the world to be ejaculating whip cream.
Sean walked over, “Whip cream?”
Me: Don’t get me started.
I searched for a napkin as whip cream continued to spill out of the cup and cover my hands.
Tell me they don’t look like Starbucks workers.
He looked at them, taking in the sloppy aprons over mismatched wrinkled shirts and the continued confusion of the guy at the register. Sean smiled, amused at how my treat had gone so predictably wrong and how uncharacteristically disdainful I was being.
Me: Imagine if I were really a bitch!
(Flicking copious amounts of whip cream down the tiny waste hole in the counter, I spat in the haughtiest most shameful voice:)
Those two! Those two were like airport Starbucks employees.