When It Was Just Called Joe
We used to live in simpler times when you could waltz into a diner, drop a quarter on the counter, and say...
“Coffee, please.”
Or, “Give me a cup of Mud.”
Or, “Cup of Joe.”
Even in the old movies, when a group of people worked late into the night, or early in the morning, someone would eventually say (usually to an underling), “Go get black coffee and sandwiches.”
Nobody alters that request for gluten-free bread, or almond milk.
You got coffee and sandwiches.
Then there is my brother. At his house, he asks me if I want coffee, and I say yes, he asks me how I want it.
“I’ll take cream and sugar.”
His reply?
“Oh,” he’d mock, “so you don’t like coffee?”
But now, how times have changed.
The other day, while on a walk with my friend and her dog, we stopped at Starbucks.
Let me make something clear, normally I would never go into a Starbucks. The only exception is when I’m with my friend and her dog. Her dog is such a sweet girl, so on hot days we would go into Starbucks to cool off, and get a treat for her dog.
Her treat?
A Puppuccino (whipped cream in a cup).
I ordered something I never ordered before, a Chocolate Cream Cold Brew (cream on top, coffee on bottom). It looked good on the menu.
Editors Note: What follows may not be accurate since I don’t speak Starbucks.
After taking my order, the barista (and when did that happen? Do you need a degree from Starbucks University to make drinks?) asked my friend what she would like to drink.
“I would like an iced decaf, sugar-free, vanilla soy latte, please.”
The barista replied, “Sorry, but the Starbucks Corporation does not do decaf iced lattes.”
My friend responded she had one last time she was here.
“I’m sorry,” the barista replied, “perhaps you had an Iced Americano, because the Starbucks Corporation does not do decaf iced lattes.”
This back-and-forth continued for longer than expected. It went on so long that a blind man, whom we helped earlier in the day find a Dunkin’ Donuts (about two blocks away), walked by with his iced coffee in hand (probably a decaf) going in the opposite direction.
It shouldn’t have been that difficult. My friend listed exactly what she ordered before. Meanwhile, the barista spouted the steps necessary to create a cold fusion nuclear reaction.
Plus, once when barista said, ‘Starbucks Corporation’, I swear I heard Starfleet Command come out of his mouth.
Eventually, I walked away. Later, in a conversation with my friend, she thought I walked away because she made a scene. I told her I walked away because I started to laugh.
From what I could hear over my stifled laughter, the barista explained the difference between espresso and brewed. Decaf coffee and iced with milk, Americano, espresso with water and milk, and every other possible combination to fulfill her order.
Starfleet would be proud.
Eventually, they landed on a compromise (not sure what it was), but he assured her if she did not like it, he would make something else.
We took our table, then worried, that with these unknown drinks, we won’t be able to tell them apart.
“Well,” I said, “I got a Grande, and you got a medium, they should not be the same size.”
Spoiler alert: They were the same size.
Although, mine looked distinctly different, with cream on top.
Mine was delicious, however hers, not so much.
Not sure what the barista did, but by the look on her face on the first sip, he missed his mark.
She walked back to the counter, drink in hand.
Before she handed the coffee back to him, she said, “I am never coming back here again.”
She didn’t mean she wasn’t coming back because he was a bad employee. No, she meant it in the way you say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ when you break up with someone.
Apparently, (I think) he added water and milk to a brewed decaf espresso, and poured over ice.
He made her another drink.
What was that drink?
An iced decaf, sugar-free, vanilla soy latte, the one she asked for oh, so long, ago.
(Don’t ask, because we had no clue as to why)
One down, but I had my own problems. A two-toned coffee sat in front of me.
Do I mix it?
Do I just drink it, as is?
Went back to the counter to ask the young woman barista, what I should do.
“Well,” she said, “that is my favorite coffee, and I just drink it, let the cream settle to the bottom.”
Where have you been all my life? Finally, someone taught me how to drink fancy coffee.
Refreshed, and thoroughly confused, we finished our drinks, and left.
I’m not sure of our return to this particular Starbucks. However, when we do, I fully expect the barista, upon seeing us at the front door, turns into a full-blown version of the Soup Nazi, and shouts:
“No coffee for you!”
