Coffee Regular

I rarely go to Starbucks. I make my own coffee black with either soy, 2% milk, or Coffee-mate. It depends on the day. When I do buy my coffee, I like the more local coffee houses and not the chain stores.

This morning I didn’t feel like heading home for breakfast after the gym. I decided to get a start on the pile of work awaiting me at my office. So, I figured I’d grab a coffee at Starbucks and eat a couple of granola bars at my desk.

I wasn’t the only early morning patron, which quite honestly startled me a bit considering these economic times. There was one sloppily dressed college kid all in black and grey, a woman dressed professionally, and another woman either on her way or from a gym.

The dude at the counter received his coffee and paid. He walked away sipping and nearly spit it out in his back pack. He turned and muscled back in front of the professional lady.

“Excuse me,” he interrupted to a wide eyed young girl at the register, “I asked for a regular coffee.” He held the cup out arms length to give it back as if it were a dirty diaper.

“It is coaffee regulah … 3 creams, 3 sugahs …” the obviously east coast accent explained. I was as surprised as everyone. New York, I figured.

“Uhm, ahhh,” stuttered Goth boy, “this is California. Regular means black.”

East coast barista grabbed back the coffee in a slight miff and dumped it and refilled it with plain, house black. She handed it back saying, “sowrry!”.

Do they train people anymore?

Professional lady ordered something and paid with an ATM. Gym mom ordered something and handed over her dollars dumping the change in a jar. They stood over next to the “self-serve” station and talked.

“Yeah, I have to buy a new phone this morning. Dropped mine in the toilet,” confided professional lady as she rolled her eyes in self amazement.

My interest was piqued. I took my time adding my non-fat milk. Please continue. I stirred slowly. As it turns out, the phone was in her pocket. She never puts the phone in her pocket. But this morning she put the phone in her pocket. Isn’t that always the case. From what I over heard, the phone is gone. The conversation somehow morphed to Rice Krispy treats, and surprisingly, I lost interest. My mind jumped to the work of the day.

On my way out the car, I wondered what would happen if I dropped my phone right here, in the puddle. (It's been raining.) Well, it would fritz out or something, I’m sure. It might be a bit sticky. There would be only myself to blame, and maybe the irresponsible person who spilled a caramel latte with whip or something. And, I could blame God, of course.

It’s cheaper, and I get my coffee the way I want it because I make it myself at home, but I must say I’m missing quite a bit of colorful experiences by not getting my morning fix from the shop down the street.