I swung by Starbucks on my way back from a meeting, minding my own business and ordering my standard Grande Coffee Frappuchino Light with a splash of mint.
Big deal, right?
You’d have thought it was the end of the world according to the exasperated sigh from the woman in line behind me. I turned around to find the spitting image of the mom from Growing Pains, who looked straight at the barista and said, “I just want a regular cup of coffee and I’m in a hurry. Can you help me first?”
Oh. Hell. No.
First of all, bitch should’ve asked me, not the barista. I’m the one she’s cutting. I’m the one that got there first. I’m the one whose name has already been sharpee’d on a goddamn Frappuchino plastic cup!
The barista then looks to me, refusing to point out the very obvious and well known fact that anyone who orders plain coffee gets served as soon as they pay anyway. You don’t have to move over to the specialty-drink holding area. They immediately grab you a cup and fill it with coffee. That’s the Starbucks way and everyone knows it.
Put on the spot, I respond with widened eyes, slowing turning to Growing Pains and passive/aggressively saying “Um, yeah. I guess.”
It takes her 10 seconds to get her stupid coffee, and would’ve gone quicker had she not paid with exact change.
In a hurry, my ass.
So it’s finally my turn (again) and obviously, I take this opportunity to share a moment of solidarity with the barista.
“I can’t believe that lady was so pushy about my Frappuchino.”
“Well, she WAS only getting coffee.”
Oh. Hell. No…