whatimeant2say This Morning
Starbucks Speaker: Hello. What can I get started for you today?
Me: A venti, non-fat mocha (whatimeant2say – For the love of God, please give me something that will help me feel like I can make it through this miserable day on 5 hours of sleep!)
Starbucks Speaker: garble, garble, mocha
Me: Uh, yes, but please make it non-fat.
Starbucks Speaker: I said that.
Me: O.K. (whatimeant2say – Hey! I couldn’t hear you! And I have been having issues with my weight lately. My jeans suddenly stopped fitting and I’m having self-confidence problems in addition to the mysterious stomach illness that my doctor cannot seem to diagnose or treat, and the last thing I need is to spend my day feeling guilty about the designer coffee I ingested with FAT MILK – or feeling angry at a grumpy Starbucks Speaker.)
I drive up to the window. No one is there. Finally, a woman comes up to the window. She is fumbling with register tape or something, but eventually looks at me.
Evil Czarista (impatiently): Yes?
She glares at me as though I have just interrupted her in the middle of launching a nuclear missile.
Evil Czarista (more impatiently): What can I do for you?
Me: Uh, venti non-fat Mocha? (whatimeant2say – Didn’t I just go through this with you at the speaker? And, didn’t you ask me, “What can I start for you?” Doesn’t that imply that, upon receiving my statement, you will actually start creating my drink so that it will be close to ready by the time I arrive at this window? So, I won’t have to ask for it again?)
Evil Czarista: garble, garble, skinny mocha
Me: Yeah (whatimeant2say – Oh, that’s what you said before, isn’t it? Can you tell me this: why is it easier for you to say “skinny” instead of “non-fat?” Aren’t they both two-syllable comments? And, how do I know that “skinny” doesn’t just mean 2% milk? Because, to me, NO FAT would actually be more how I would describe an “emaciated” person, not a skinny one. Of course, “emaciated” is 5 syllables – which would totally blow the whole concept of abbreviating the order.)
I wait as another girl meanders in, and E.C. tells her my order. She begins to make the drink. I stare at the overflowing trash can that is the center focus of the drive-through window, wondering if they have already filled it that much this morning or if no one bothered to take it out last night.
Evil Czarista: garble, garble
Me: O.K. (whatimeant2say – How do you sound like you are still talking through a speaker that has its wires crossed when you are speaking to me directly from 2 feet away? I am assuming you want my money since you are holding out the palm of your hand.)
I give her the money.
And I stick a tip in the jar. Yes, I’m a doormat.
Evil Czarista: Here.
She hands me the coffee.
Me: Thanks (whatimeant2add– for making the start of my day even worse than it appeared when I got up this morning. And I will be taking this directly to the lab to make sure it is NON-FAT. And that you didn’t spit in it.)
With that kind of attitude, I may have to start going to the one across the street.photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/hannasmith/3876511753/”>hanna_ms</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a>