Starbucks

I have a passionate love/hate relationship with Starbucks. I still can't decide if the delicious taste and boost of energy is worth the dent in bank account each month. Lately the hate far outweighs the love. Let me tell you why.

My day was off to a friendly start. My husband, Mike, and I had recently moved to Kansas City and I was feeling unstoppable. He had landed a great job and I was on summer break after finishing my first year of grad school. On this particular morning I was going to spend some time at Starbucks and then return home to finish unpacking our last few boxes. Needless to say, I was not dressed to impress. Knowing I would be alone in our apartment all day I just threw on some raggedy old jeans, a t-shirt my dad got me while on a business trip to Guam when I was 12 that says "GUAM" across the front in all caps with two dolphins about to jump through the "G" and "M," and my hair was pulled back by a headband and ponytail. As I walked into Starbucks I noticed the male barista had stopped what he was doing and was looking intently in my direction. Assuming there was a hottie behind me I hastily continued my short walk to the counter as not to disrupt their cheesy moment. I envisioned a skinny, blonde, businesswoman walking in behind me, the sun shining brightly behind her making her appear angelic, wind blowing through her perfectly curled hair that probably smelled like strawberries, legs as long as the seashore that they would soon walk along together. It wasn't until I got to the counter that I realized nobody was behind me and the barista hadn't yet broken eye contact with ME. After looking around to make sure this was actually happening, I was immediately overcome with insecurity assuming that he was staring at my giant forehead that I so willingly exposed that morning as I pushed back my bangs with that headband despite my better judgment. I silently vowed never to wear my bangs back in public ever again, even at the gym. I'd rather people stare at my sweaty bangs than their reflection in my fivehead.

In accordance with our new, fresh, healthy, KC lifestyle I proceeded to order a Skinny Latte (that makes up for the fact that it was a large and I was going to put 2 packets of sugar in it, right?). Anyway, the tall, dark (coffee pun!) barista let out a small chuckle and said, "There is no way I'm giving a girl that looks like you a skinny latte. How about I make you a regular one for free?"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?!" I thought to myself. I hadn't been hit on in several years. Last time I received a compliment that explicit and low quality it came from my good friend Zeke and was followed by, "Just kidding. Can I have Ashley's number?" (Ashley is my stunning best friend who looks very similar to the woman I was envisioning walking in behind me.) I didn't know what to say and was feeling extremely nervous. I mentally retreated inside myself to weigh my options and figure out how to respond:

If I accept the free drink, am I enabling his behavior and somehow being unfaithful to Mike? (Remember, I had not been hit on in a long time, especially not since I was married. How are married women supposed to react in these situations?) BUT if I refuse this free offer I will have to pay for my own drink when this $5 could go towards my inevitable lunch at Five Guys. I will order lettuce on the burger so that kind of counts as a salad so it's still healthy. Totally healthy. Back to the coffee! I can't accept a free coffee after a pick-up line that heinous. That was the worst thing I have ever heard! However, by accepting the free drink I am saving my husband money. Aha! I am merely being a bargain shopper! Bargain shopper = good wife!
 

Before I knew it the drink was already made and he was handing it to me. I was still just as flustered and confused as I was when I first ordered. I just wanted to get out of there. I was officially perspiring and mumbled a weird thanks as I turned around to leave, not feeling confident in the chosen interaction. The problem was, I was so focused on how to respond that my brain forgot to tell my legs to move. I turned around and tried to proceed forward but to my surprise (and most everyone else's) my legs decided not to follow suit. This ultimately resulted in me falling face first onto the floor as my free latte spilled all over the place. I got up in an instant and turned to look at the barista, whose face was solemn. He almost looked annoyed. "I am so sorry!" I exclaimed, grabbing napkins and trying to wipe it up while pretending my face wasn't throbbing from the fall. "Do you want this one to be a skinny?" he asked, staring straight down at the register before making me another drink. "Um, sure!" I replied, as feminine and dainty as possible attempting to maintain what little dignity I had left.

As if this moment could get any worse I then heard the six most demoralizing words I could imagine: he looked straight into my eyes, the same eyes he was gazing so fondly into just moments before, and said, "That will be $4.46."

Not only did he successfully coerce me with the world's worst pick-up line that I know he's used with dozens of women before me, but then he watched me turn around, trip, and spill my coffee without batting an eye. He didn't ask me if I was okay, he didn't even offer to help me clean it up. And worst of all, now he was making me pay for the second one! Only because I couldn't think of anything clever to do on the spot, I calmly paid for the drink, thanked him for his service, and walked out knowing that I was undoubtedly now part of a story we would both tell to anybody who would listen for weeks to come. Starbucks had done it again. The green coffee mermaid lures me in with her seductive tentacles, promising comforting, convenient coffee and an increased energy level only to humiliate me.

I also think it's important to add that after telling my dad this story he ordered me a Keurig for that year's birthday and sent with it several months worth of Starbucks K-Cups. If I am going to make a fool out of myself for the sake of delicious coffee, I am going to do so in the privacy of my own home! Thanks, dad. And just like the jerk barista, if I trip and spill my coffee, my Keurig will just sit there and watch me pick up the pieces.

This story, while small in comparison to more defining moments, still taught me a few valuable lessons:

1. You are the heroine in your story! Don't always assume the heroine is somebody better or more beautiful than you, and don't always assume she's blonde.
2. Don't let the way people treat you define you.
3. When somebody falls (literally or figuratively), for the love of everything sacred, help them up!