Last night my wife gave me a Starbucks gift card. This made me very happy, because there is a delightful little game we play at Starbucks when I stop in to buy coffee.
“I would like a medium coffee, black, please.” I say with a touch of a smile lighting my face.
t a Grande, Bold, no room for cream.” They offer, a little anger pretending to foam from
I look thoughtfully at the counter person, and pretend to think about their offer, earnestly, sincerely. And say, “that sounds great, but this morning, I will just stick with a medium coffee, black. Thank you, though.”
At this point the person at the cash register feigns disgust, and says “that is wha
t a Grande, Bold is” and acts a little
“Great, thank you so much.” I say politely, with all of the gratitude only Friday can give.
This morning was even better, because I had an old gift card with a balance, and Starbucks hates to share the balance with the owner of the card, it is their little secret. And there was only 10¢ on the card. She really pretended to be upset by this. “There is only
TEN CENTS on this card, you still OWE
“I have this one, and it is brand new.” I tried to remove it from the cardboard display, and she was not going to wait around for that sort of nonsense.
"I can do it with that still on." She pretended to whisper "damn you." I pretended not to hear.
She finishes the transaction and says “here is your coffee, have a nice day, jerk.”
I love Friday at Starbucks. It feels like home. But I have teenagers living there.