Like many other neurotic, panicky, hyperactive people who only sleep 4-5 hours a night, I drink tons of coffee.
And I’ve started to notice that my life seems to revolve around Starbucks — not even just the Starbucks where my Barista crush works.
Clearly, I feel very comfortable there, because last Friday I plunked down at a counter and cried my eyes out while questioning the meaning of my life. However, when I went back to that same Starbucks on Sunday, I was little apprehensive about whether I could really show my face there again.
I walked up to the register and ordered a venti coffee–thankfully from a barista who had not been present during my meltdown.
“I’m sorry–we’re out of Venti cups. Can I give you a grande?”
“Sure.” What choice did I have?
“It’s probably for the better,” he smiled at me. “People have been complaining that you get a little too antsy when you drink the Ventis.”
I smiled back weakly before surrendering to the joke. “Oh, yeah? Who’s been complaining? I want names.”
He looked confused for a minute before landing his gaze on another barista who had been around to witness my antics. “He did! He complained!” The other barista looked at me and turned red. There was a pregnant pause.
“Well,” I admitted. “I was a little a worked up the last time I was in here.” The implicated barista smiled with relief. We all chuckled.
“It’s ok!” My barista assured me. “It happens to the best of us.”