Like a droid, I walked into Starbucks and it wasn’t until I opened my mouth to order that I realized I didn’t actually want a coffee.
What am I doing here? I wondered.
If you’ve ever been to Starbucks, you’ll know there’s a language. You need to be able to order your grande, non-fat, half-sweet, extra hot, double shot, no whip macchiato in 5 seconds flat. No stumbling. No stuttering.
So, to be standing in front of this high-haired, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed barista and not have a clue what to say was, well, awkward.
“Something cold?” She offered, unable to conceal the hopeful gleam that I wouldn’t hold up her line much longer.
Something cold, I puzzled. Something cold? But, but I always got coffee. Hot coffee. Extra hot coffee. Something cold?!
Her eyes fluttered and a Colgate crescent fastened itself into place just below her sweet, petite, pierced nose.
“We have these things,” she informed me in a voice that sounded like a long, twirling question mark. “They’re like, cold with ice and berries, you know? They’re good.” She shrugged.
“Alright,” I conceded. “I guess I’ll try one of those.”
It felt odd to watch her write my name on the foreign, clear plastic cup, the comfort of my usual white, smooth familiarity gone with my snap decision. But I only had a moment to feel uneasy about my impromptu choice. In a flash, spontaneity was set in front of me, beads of water diluting the black lines of my freshly Sharpied H, A, Z and Y.
As I walked out into the sunshine, I paused, the fear that my gamble would disappoint, halting me.
Finally, caution was thrown to wind and I whet my whistle.
Sometimes it just takes a ballsy barista to bust your blahs and quench what has been a long-standing thirst.