Funniness Negates Wrongness
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
On Blended Drinks and English Usage
As many of you know, I have a thing for Starbucks. Well, you know wrong. I'm not particularly enamored of Starbucks and the fact is, I don't drink it that often (especially since 'Shank got a real job and no longer works there). If I had a choice, I'd rather have a double-double from Tim Horton's any day over a mocha from Starbucks, but seeing as how I don't live in Canada (or in one of the lucky cities in the States that have a Tim Horton's), I'm forced to make do with what I have. And, because they're everywhere, that'd be Starbucks.

Sunday, I went to Starbucks twice. Once in the morning, for a wake-me-up, which did its job, and once in the late afternoon to do some reading and people-watching. It was the afternoon trip where I encountered the crazy baristas.

Now, obviously most baristas are a little bit off, but these two were really strange. The first one, who resembled former MTV VJ Kennedy but..well...crazier, first asked me what kind of cologne I was wearing when I approached the counter. "Burberry", I replied. She then proceeded to argue with me that it wasn't Burberry, even though--logically--I should know because I was the one that picked up the bottle and spritzed myself with it. The only way it couldn't be Burberry is if Macy's is selling fake Burberry, in which case they owe me a huge explanation.

She finally dropped to cologne argument and asked me what I wanted to drink. "Venti, non-fat, no-whip mocha", I replied. "Are you sure you don't what a frappucino?" she asked, "it's the perfect drink for a hot day like today."

I've tasted frappucinos. I've tasted Clamato. I've even tasted RC Cola. I'd drink either of the last two before I even considered letting a frap touch my lips again. So I replied "No, I think I'll just have the mocha".

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Pretty sure," I replied, slightly perturbed.

"Well, how about I just go ahead and mark up a frappucino cup for you? I'm sure you'll like it."

"No, I won't. All I want is a venti, non-fat, no-whip mocha," I replied, slightly forcibly.

"Oh, okay...fine, be that way."

I gave her a look of disdain, paid by credit card and went to wait at the end of the bar for my drink.

Forty-five minutes later, I'd finished my drink and was deep into my book (Nick Hornby's A Long Way Down) when it occured to me that I could use a water to cleanse my palate.

Ambling up to the bar, I asked the second crazy barista for a cup of water.

"Can I get a cup of water please?"

"I don't know, can you?" she replied in her "mommy voice".

This angered me. I know that I used improper grammar to request a cup of water, but it's not the place of an overweight, still-trying-to-cling-to-her-youth, fugly barista to correct me. So I just stared at her.

She stared at me.

For thirty seconds, we were locked in a Mexican standoff of sorts, with me waiting for her to just give up trying to be my mother and her waiting for me to ask correctly.

Unfortunately, thirst got the best of me and I pussied out. I gave in and said "May I have a cup of water?"

"There you go," she replied, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Fuck you, you heifer.

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