Ok, so I love Starbucks. It’s one of my guilty little pleasures. It’s an even guiltier pleasure now that they give me gold stars for buying their wonderful hand crafted beverages with my Starbucks card. See?
The stars, along with my Starbucks Card, fit on this handy iPhone app. More on that later.
So I meet up again with Swanson (at a Starbucks, of course) and we proceed to lunch. And of course, because it’s Seattle, we walk three blocks and pass no less than twenty-seven Starbucks along the way. And we discuss how you can stand on specific street corners in the city and see more Starbucks outlets than parking meters. And I tell the story of the Starbucks in Vancouver on Robson St that are kitty corner from each other. Like, God forbid you should have to cross the street to buy a cup of coffee.
Lunch over, I call Kelly, and tell her to meet us at Starbucks.
“Ok, I’m going to get real coffee on the Hill and meet you there.”
“Do you want me to bring you some real coffee?”
“No, dammit, Starbucks gives me gold stars when I buy coffee there. We’ve been over this!”
I’m schvitzing slightly over the Starbucks/real coffee/gold star
altercation fight, so I collect Swanson and we proceed half a block down the street, take a right, and into the nearest Starbucks. It’s midafternoon on a dreary Seattle Saturday, so the place is packed. great. No place to sit down. Whatever. Swanson is wearing a really cute stuffed animal in his left lapel so we look creepy enough to scare off some patrons. Score.
We get to the front of the line and order our coffee.
“Uh, can I get a Triple Grande 1% Vanilla Latte please?”
The barista is gorgeous. And (mostly) straight in that Seattle kinda “straight until I’ve had three Jones sodas and I’m at a party where being situationally homosexual is considered kinda cool” way.
“We don’t have 1% but we can do half 2% and half skim…”
“You’re amazing. Make it so.”
“How about a vanilla scone to go with that. They’re only 85 cents.”
“Well, I am usually an avid supporter of all things vanilla. Ya sold me skipper. Go-go gadget scone!”
He gives me my total, and I want to use my Starbucks card. But not my regular Starbucks card, I want to participate in the pilot program where I can use the Starbucks card on my phone (observe):
So I click the thing and it turns around and gives me this awesome little barcode to scan instead of having to dig in my wallet and get my real card.
“Can I use this or do you need real money?”
The barista does the happy dance.
“Oh sweet you have one of those! I’ve never seen it work before. Just scan it right here!”
I scan it and we both do the happy dance. Technology is wonderful.
The cute little stuffed animal in Swansons tit pocket isn’t creeping out enough patrons to score us some seats (it is Seattle, after all, people are kinda primed for bullshit, especially downtown), so I send him outside to stake out the patio seating. Even though it’s cold and dreary, I’m about to get some awesome coffee.
I note the barista behind the machine is fussing, whining, and struggling with my coffee. He’s apparently not happy the cutie at the cash register suggested I make my hand crafted beverage more difficult for the schlub behind the machine. I also notice that barista is definitely gay (in the traditional Seattle navel piercing suck the chrome off a bumper kinda way) and has hair bleached completely white.
“Here’s your Triple grande “one percent” vanilla latte. Enjoy, I worked hard on it.” he said with the eye roll, smirk, and hip cock that is the 2010’s version of the three snaps in Z formation.
“Whatever gay bait, your hair is awful. You look like Jane Lynch. Go shut down a glee club somewhere.”
This is my second
altercation fight this afternoon, and I’m really more of a lover, so I retreat outside to Swanson with my scone and my apparently difficult hand crafted beverage and sit down for nary a moment before Kelly arrives, clearly jealous of my gold stars.
“I’ve still never heard of an adult buying coffee just to get gold stars.”
Well get used to it, sister. Ya gotta do what’s important.
*I was not paid a promotional fee by Starbucks for this poorly written diatribe. Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve one.