I haven't had a chance to go grocery shopping this week, so I stopped at the El Con Starbux to get breakfast, lunch and mocha. I walked up to the counter and uttered my mantra, "Tall skinny half-caf mocha, no whip." The gracious good-looking gentleman (oooh, there's your morning alliteration) behind the counter asked, "Do you want skinny or non-fat?" When I asked him the difference, he said that, beginning two days ago, they offer sugar-free mochas. But sugar-free isn't chemical-free. Sugar-free simply means made with Splenda, to which I'm allergic. (Really, I'm so tired of being allergic to so many things.)
I love saying "tall skinny mocha no whip". I feel young and cool, chic and vibrant. In my mind, my gray hair disappears for a few minutes. I'm a character in "You've Got Mail."
I love the Starbucks scenes in "You've got Mail": "Short decaf cap," "Tall mocha latte." "Grande lowfat regular." "We'll sell them legal, addictive stimulants."
As the barrista (wait, is "barrista" feminine and "barristo" masculine, or is it neuter?) handed me my mocha, he said, "Jan, I heard your conversation. In the future just say "non-fat". It's a pain, but that's what they're doing now."
Ah, my barrista is looking out for me.
And, by the way, how come everybody at work insists on calling me "Janet", no matter how many times I tell them I'm "Jan", and yet my barrista gets it right the first time, every time?
I get it. I matter to my barrista.
No comments:
Post a Comment