Ordering Coffee... More Difficult Than Organic Chemistry?

Why in the name of all that is holy do I need to know “starbuckesse” to order a friggin’ coffee? If I want to order a coffee, I’ll order a damn coffee. I shouldn’t have to explain if I want cream, half and half, 1% milk, 2% milk, soy milk, organic milk, heavy whipping cream, or milk from a motherless goat rescued from the North side of a mountain somewhere in Chile. If I want cream then I’ll ask for cream. If you have some white liquid and it isn’t Elmer’s glue… chances are it will suffice.

I shouldn’t need to ask the person behind the counter to define what their sizes are. Don’t call it short, tall, grande or venti, because those names don’t even relate to one another. Short is short, but tall is actually smaller and shorter than grande or venti. Does that even make sense? No – it doesn’t make sense and it was a rhetorical question so if you were answering it in your head you’re not only a moron, but you missing the whole point. Just give me the option of small, medium, or large. If you tell me the large is really grande and venti is technically the equivalent of an extra large, I might pull you by the collar and dump my venti over the back of your skinny little neck.

I don’t need to call it a mocha caramel breve espresso whateverthehell with cinnamon sprinkles and I don’t need the person making it to call themselves an idiotic name like barista when in reality they are just a coffee jockey. If I do happen to actually get the right order, I shouldn’t have the person who handed it to me look as if they will be upset if I refuse to drop a dollar into their tip jar considering my entire order from start to finish took all of a whopping 50 seconds to make.

I tip at sit-down restaurants because the wait staff is actually serving me and devoting more than two minutes to my experience. I don’t tip at Burger King just because the cashier was fast and actually took the time to verify I was in fact getting onion rings instead of fries and therefore I’m not about to tip the person who poured me a coffee just because they made a little heart in the foam that I didn’t actually even ask for in the first place.

Above all else, I don’t need to read or comprehend Italian when the coffee itself comes from Columbia via a company headquartered in Seattle and employing people from Iowa, and I sure as hell don’t need to pay $6.75 for the damn thing only to find it tastes suspiciously like the opened can of Folgers that has been sitting in my cupboard for the last six months.