A Good Cup of Coffee (and A Fine Piece of Pie)

On vacation, daughter Jessica and I like to treat ourselves to an extravagant cup of coffee at Starbucks. Something with mocha and peppermint perhaps or chocolate and whipped cream. Something with 7,000 calories that tastes like a melted hot fudge Sundae.

Upon arrival in any Starbucks I immediately wonder where I need to stand to order. No signs, no obvious counter, no one who actually appears to be waiting on customers. It’s like street signs in New England. If you don’t already know where you’re going, you shouldn’t be here. It’s a blatant kind of elitist.

When I finally get Geselle’s eye and she reluctantly takes my order for a cup of coffee, instead of actually getting it for me she hands the empty cup off in the direction of Raul. By way of sweet parting, Geselle tells me to await my prescious drink at the "bar".

Where exactly is the “bar”? Since every available space is covered with single cup coffee makers and espresso machines, coffee from places I assume are still in existence somewhere and more instant coffee packages than the U.S. Army would ever need, the “bar” is hard to find.

It is best to arrive at a Starbucks directly behind another old buck, preferably one with Alzheimer’s disease. Starbucks markets their product almost exclusively to these guys. Since there is a Starbucks on any two corners of any intersection anywhere in the world, these old folks spend all day walking from one to the other. Once outside of this shop the guy now in front of me will take a deep breath, look across the intersection and think to himself, “How about a nice cup of Joe?”

But by following this “regular” user you can discover where to stand to best be seen by Geselle and where the idiot “bar” is located.

Just one more suggestion for Starbucks: put the damn cream and sugar in it. If I wanted to wait on myself why would I be waiting in line for fifteen minutes with five other very confused old people who are already way too high on caffeine while pouty Raul takes his time pouring my stupid coffee.