“Remember when you called me after your job interview and you said you were ‘so going to work there’ because it was next door to a Whole Foods and across the street from a Starbucks?”
“It was probably the best day ever.”
Roo stops washing the dishes, “When was the last time you went to Starbucks?” He looks over to see me hugging myself. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“That thing where you hug yourself like those sad monkeys we saw on PBS. You’re obviously upset.”
“Well, that’s the last time you’re watching Frontline with me. I am not a sad monkey.”
I am so a sad monkey.
Back when I was
delusional and living beyond my means living in Cambridge, my apartment was across the street from a Starbucks. I would go there so often (ie twice a day, everyday), they started making “my drink” as soon as they saw me walk in.
“Grande, skinny, two pump vanilla latte for Lys.”
Sometimes it got awkward when I wanted a different drink. And by awkward, I mean awesome as they would just give me both drinks for the price of one.
It pays to be nice to the baristas.
“Why are you shaking?”
“I’m not shaking.Youcrazy.Oh!Side note. Igottwolattesforthepriceofone!”
“It’s 2 p.m. You are shaking and talking like a college kid on ritalin during finals week.”
“You should lay off the ten shots of espresso in the morning.”
Besides the obvious self-induced caffeine overdose, my love for Starbucks was a $40/week habit.
They’d always find a way to draw me in.
“Buy one beverage in the morning and get any drink for only $2 after 2 p.m.!”
“Starbucks Happy Hour (ie half off frappuccinos between 3 – 5 p.m.)”
And lemon cake.
Yes, lemon cake.
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