Slave to the man

My coworker and I just walked over to the Starbucks on the corner for a mid afternoon coffee break- a much needed one given my ridonculous morning which has only been followed by an equally annoying afternoon.

It has been months since I had a mid-day coffee so I expect to be quite jittery in a few short minutes but in the meantime, I bring you a quick ode to Starbucks.

Sure, the inner-hippy in me wants to reject the carefully crafted packaging, the conforming ordering process, the ridiculously overpriced beverages and food, the whole notion that Starbucks evokes of the ultimate corporation- but I just can't help myself from wanting to dive into a pool of Grande Nonfat, Lactose Free, Extra Hot, No Whip, No Syrup, Sugar Free Caramel Machiato, or today's choice drink- Half Caf, Iced Americano with Nonfat Milk, Half Sweet. And don't even get me started on Chai Soy Lattes with 2 Pumps and extra Cinnamon.

And the food, the alway as fresh seeming pastries that call out to my cellulite, the unique combinations of meats and cheeses in their paninis, the fruit and egg plate, the salami plate, the yogurts, and more recently the most treacherous of all- the birthday cake pops.
What is a girl to do with all these treats and only a mere glass wall separating me from them? Maybe gain 400 pounds?

So anywho- of course, my coworker has a simple order- Coconut Frappacino- no big deal. Of course he is a guy too because no man I know orders a Skinny No Sugar blah blah blah- their orders always make ordering a Starbucks seem easy. It is only my lady friends who indulge in the rare treat of getting exactly what you want- so of course, anytime I go with a male companion to Starbucks, I am ridiculed.
Both my fiance and dad will not order for me unless I get something with absolutely no modifications. My fiancé shudders at the "Extra Hot" part even when I am the one ordering it- he doesn't think that they actually can make hot hotter- I beg to differ. If I want to scald myself while drinking coffee, i think I reserve that right.

My coworker joked that it took the barista as long to say the name of my drink as it took to make it.
But who is laughing at the end (Starbucks, for making us slaves to their amazing coffee) and me, sometimes- maybe with a burnt tongue, maybe not.

It's not like I relish in my pseudo addiction- don't I wish that I loved Tim Hortons or Country Style. But I don't. Country Styles just plain freak me out as establishments and Tim Hortons always reminds me of drinking crack- not that I have a wealth of experience in crack drinking but there is something unnatural about their coffee- I'm telling you (ed. note. you don't have to believe me- I also would tell you that drinking coffee with a straw is normal).

So they charge you up the wazoo for these custom coffees-almost double what a Timmys would be AND they make you speak to them in this ridiculous language that has become second nature to me in so much that I will order a grande anywhere- who else even carries a stupid grande?
I buy their books, download their music, own the mugs, and look to them for Holiday gifts- and if only they were not so good, I would be able to despise them as I should. (I'm a poet and I didn't even know it)