Venturing into Starbucks

I’m not a coffee drinker. But even if I were, I don’t think I’d spend half my salary on Starbucks coffee — it’s too strong, yet even their strong espressos don’t taste good like Spanish ones to me. I make my tea, by the gallon (I think I need a samovar), and drink it. No need for Starbucks.

This morning the oiled bird caregivers were giving their orders to Ann, the volunteer coordinator, because Jay had a raft of donated Starbucks gift cards (about $50 worth). I offered despite my better judgment to drive and help carry back twelve sloshing cups, individually marked (under the cup holder). Venti (invariably pronounced Ventey by customers whose second language is Spanish not Italian). Grande. Latte. Frappuccino. It’s such a caricature of itself, Starbucks. Precious. Pompous. Pretentious. It makes me nuts.

It took twelve tries, folks. The cash register can’t do more than about $20 on a gift card (but then won’t do it a second time). The total came to $42 and change. Two baristas and a bunch of spent and re-spent gift cards later (and a host of impatient people behind us, waiting junkie-like for their fix before heading off to face impossible relatives over dinner), we emerged with various concoctions to spill all over the Honda Element.

Connecting people with their coffees was another trick: no food or drinks in the stabilization room, hot chocolate in the trailer, where’s Rebecca, she’s a mocha, no, that was Sandra … I don’t know how anyone ever gets anything done in Starbucks-land.

Added, November 29: Lewis Black’s Starbucks rant.