Starbucks

Okay first of all, I generally abhor anything trendy. Or namebrand. Or doing things just for show. I don't like the taste of coffee. I'm known among my closest friends for being unable to make a decision. I adore the movie "You've Got Mail" more than any reasonable person should.

The last 6 months or so, I've started to get cravings for caffe lattes. But not real caffe lattes, sweet ones. Like the Vanilla Bean one from Second Cup. Which is fine. I can go order a medium Vanilla Bean latte with no problem. I don't know if that's because it's vanilla (which is simple, yet wonderful, enough that it should be in everything), or if it's because, being a Canadian company, it doesn't get the overexposure Starbucks does, or (most likely) if it's because you can order a medium. Or a small. Or a large.

At the end of November, because of overwhelming marketing and peer pressure, I tried a gingerbread latte from Starbucks. And then, since I was in cities with Starbucks several more times in December, I had more. I've been to Starbucks 4 times in the last 2 months. I think I've only been 6 times in my entire life.

Every time I stand in line, I feel my self-respect slipping away. I hear people ordering "Venti peppermint mochas" and I wonder why we need all the cutesy names and the ridiculous sizing convention (I mean, really, how pretentious do we need to be?) and I start to hate myself for falling victim to the over-priced, self-indulgent marketing machine. Then, it never fails. One person from the cashier. They order. "Grande cappucino, non fat." I hear Tom Hanks with one of the greatest lines in "You've Got Mail":

"The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino. "

By the time I get to the cashier, I'm biting my lip to keep from bursting out laughing. I still hate myself, but at least I'm laughing at myself. Even if I'm nearly drawing blood so I don't look weird in front of the moccachino money man.

You got it Tommy. But the whip cream man. It just tastes so good!