I
don’t get it.
Do you get it?
Who gets it?
I know I don’t.
I don’t get it.
What
is the attraction to Starbucks?
Tall, Grande, Venti, Trenta,
And Short, if you’re
smart enough to ask,
Maybe save
yourself a zillion bucks
On
over-priced miniscule cups of coffee.
I
ask the server to explain to me
Something about their products.
I’m not a coffee
drinker, and
I’m a novice
at ordering Starbucks,
So
she’d better try and sell me something.
(I
know that she should be explaining
Starbucks products and tempting me
with
Tales of how good their
coffee, tea, et al, all taste.
I know she
should be giving me the hard sale with soft chatter
Because
I used to sell coffee at rival Dunkin Donuts.)
Instead,
my companion and I are treated like idiots.
“We don’t have peppermint NOW!”
Spoken in a petulant,
unhelpful, chastising, superior tone,
Then she
stands there like a brain-robbed automaton
And
dismisses us like the plague of locusts we must be.
We
finally order some shit
(If we are treated like shit
By a piece of shit,
we must be in Shit
Country)
And
are stunned by the science of it all.
Volume.
It’s all about volume.
Clearly, Tall and Grande
are within milliliters of each other.
Finally, a
server with a smile and a brain
Comes
over to offer us samples of something pumkin-y.
This
… this I clearly would’ve ordered,
Maybe even Venti,
Had that first bitch
Bothered to
explain that
“We
have pumpkin NOW!”
We
line up the cups we have:
Grande, Tall, and sample size
And decide that soon,
very soon,
The sample
size will probably be the secret Short
While
the tall shrinks, and so on.
Truth
be told, the Passion Fruit Iced Tea?
It isn’t anything to get passionate
about.
It’s about as exciting
as Kool-Aid.
Really,
really, REALLY expensive Kool-Aid.
“We
have imitation Kool-Aid NOW!” shouts the server.
And
I don’t get it.
Maybe you get it.
Perhaps you mainline
coffee.
I know I don’t
mainline coffee.
I
… just … don’t … get … it.
