Brad Kanus

This is Why I Hate Starbucks People - Middle Aged Shopping Mom

Last week during the snowstorm (that didn't happen), my very pregnant wife and I were awoken by a 2.5 year-old terror we claim on our taxes at 4:00 AM.  It was quite obvious nobody was going back to bed anytime soon, so we got up.  We made coffee, discovered TV at that time of the day still sucks and googled "orphanage" on our respective iPhones.  Miraculously the kid fell asleep at 5:00 and we joined her until about 9:00 AM.  A second round of coffee was needed... and that's where our story really starts.

I put on my clothes and headed out into the snow rain to retrieve coffee from Starbucks.  I was bracing myself for a nightmare scenario where there would be a line around the block and a single barista working.  I was presently surprised to find a short line and a full staff as I entered the store.  That's the last pleasant thing I experienced.

The regulars were all gathered at a single table pooling their powers of annoyance into one giant laser beam of WTF behavior to shoot at unsuspecting strangers.   You may recall my earlier piece about them.  However, they were not the problem this time... well, any more than they usually are.  

The line had four people in it as I made the turn, around the barrier and prepared to pre-order my two drinks.  I was third in line by the time I was in position to order.  Things were really looking up - I was considering trying to order something other than my go to drink (grande hazelnut skim latte - the only thing I know how to order).  Then I noticed that the woman standing in front of the register and the roughly fifty pieces of merchandise she was attempting to buy.  

If you live in Arlington, you know all about the 50 year-old rich white women who do nothing but buy shit and sleep (they may not sleep, I have never followed one back to their cave).  These women ask questions like "what do you have in the back" at Crate and Barrel because they already own everything on display.  Somehow one of these ladies found themselves in my Arlington  Starbucks amongst their modest impulse purchase offerings and the store hit their non-coffee sales quota for the month that morning.  

It took a solid ten minutes for the guy behind the counter to ring her up.  She left with two tall lattes and four bags of the crap nobody ever seems to buy at Starbucks.  It was ants-in-your-armpit-annoying to watch the hipster behind the counter figure out how to ring up things no one has ever purchased before while trying to keep up with the barrage of questions about return policies and upcoming stock clearance items.  

No drink could be pre-ordered because the other Starbucks employees were all helping to try and figure out what all that crap actually cost and if it was actually for sell, or did this woman haul a display piece up with the intention of buying it.  

Would you be surprised if I told you that she needed help to her car?  Of course you wouldn't be. 

It took me 25 minutes to do something that should have taken five and thus is life in the medium city at Starbucks.  

This is Why I Hate Starbucks People - the regulars

My Christmas gift this year was seven days alone.  No wife, no kid - just pure bliss.  Everything was just about perfect.  I could watch something on TV without it being "Dora the Explorer" or "Project Runway."  I could sleep whenever I wanted for however long I wanted.  Food was my choice and served whenever I was ready.  Did I mention I could sleep as long as I wanted? 

The only problem was coffee.  I can make coffee, but I can't make coffee using the coffee machine my wife bought for us.  It's a complicated little machine that actually grinds the beans before it brews the coffee.  The machine has some problems... 

1. It sounds like a jet engine when it grinds the beans and it wakes everyone in the house up.  There's no sense in setting it to start at 5:30 because you want to get up at 6:00 and have the coffee waiting for you.  When it goes off you're up at that moment - possibly with wet jammies if you're not expecting it. 

2.  It's impossible to get the strength of the coffee right.  My wife has figured it out for our morning routine together, but we've never been able to use it when we just need a cup or two.  It's always either too dark or too light.   The water to whole bean ratio thing isn't easy to master. 

So, given that I couldn't get my coffee at home, I had to go to Starbucks.  Why would I go to Starbucks if I hate it so much?  Good question.  It's the only place I know how to order from.  And even at that, I only order a vanilla or hazelnut skim latte.  I'm terrified of trying to order something else and not getting right and having some smug barista judge me more than his over-educated-under-employed ass already does.  I can't handle that kind of pressure. 

On day one I don't notice anything other than the fact there are way too many people using the place as a base of operations.  Not an "office" - a base of operations.  People with jobs don't have time to f*ck around at a Starbucks all day.  Mind you, I'm talking about a Starbucks in Arlington - not the city.  In fact, it's the one right next to the Italian Store (half of you just decided it was time for pizza - you can thank me later, fatty).  People left their home with its internet connection and other amenities to go hang out at Starbucks with their laptop.  It's like showering at the gym after your workout and then going home. I don't get it.  It's not like they were at their office and needed a break - there are no offices near that Starbucks. 

On day two I notice that many of the same people are there again.  I decide to make mental notes of faces, where they're sitting and what I can observe of their behavior. 

On day three it's obvious that at least six or seven of the people I've seen the previous two days are Starbucks squatters.  They seem to be a part of a social club that has only one requirement for adminttance - be a lonely weirdo.  And by God these people are weird.  One guy is like 70 and he's got military BDU pants on a some kind of Iraqi Freedom shirt with a digital camo shawl wrapped around his shoulders and a blacked-out 9/11 "Never Forget" baseball cap on.  He sits next to this hippie looking guy who has removed his shoes and may be living in the woods near the river.  Both of them have a comment for every woman in line waiting to order and any guy who has a visible insignia of any kind on their person. 

The guy standing in front of me and just adjacent to the hippie and 9/11 G.I. Joe is wearing a jacket that says "BAE Systems" on the left breast.   9/11 G.I. Joe asks the guy what BAE Systems is.  And by "ask" I mean he just kind of starts talking to the man who is not looking at him or acknowledging him in any way.  It's awkward for everyone except for 9.11 G.I. Joe and the hippie who are now both asking the guy the same question.  The guy is not paying attention to them and it only inspires them to keep asking.  It is likely that the BAE Systems jacket guy is a bit distracted by the idea that one slip of the tongue when ordering could result in the entire Starbucks crew laughing hysterically at him.  It's a common fear.

Eventually they get tired of trying to get  Mr. BAE System's attention and 9/11 G.I. Joe gets up, walks over, skips to the head of the line and requests something.  It's a straw.  There are approximately 7,000 straws identical to the one the barista hands him available to customers on the little bar where you can add stuff to your coffee.  However, 9/11 G.I. Joe, and the rest of the regulars as I found out, make sure they get any of the items located on that bar for the the public - straight from the baristas themselves.  They are special.  They want you to know it.

By day five I have the whole social structure mapped out.  I know who's who in the Starbucks loser club.   The hippie and 9/11 G.I. Joe annoy even the other annoying regulars and are only tolerated in short bursts.  They kind of float between unofficially reserved tables for the regulars, leaving after they have quickly worn out their welcome.

On morning five a young married couple had settled into have coffee and a soccer ball-sized muffin right where one of the regulars usually squats.  He was loudly pointing out to everybody in the Starbucks losers club that they were sitting where he normally sits.  It was infantile.  It was ridiculous.  It was awkward.  It was Starbucks at its best. 

Day seven was Christmas Day and of course the Starbucks loser club held their regularly scheduled meeting.  Some of them wore Santa hats.  It was weird.  They were all sitting in the seats next to the unusually long line that had formed.  They were rapidly shooting awkward and inappropriate questions at the poor customers stuck in line with no place to go. One English professor-type guy blurted out "Coach?  What do you coach? You don't look like a coach?"  He was referring to a woman carrying a Coach purse - I think.  He thought he was hilarious, as you can imagine. 

One very pregnant woman with her mother was asked by the hippie if the father of her unborn child was going to be around.  I was very confused/shocked by the question at first, but then realized that like many women who are eight months pregnant, she was swollen and wasn't wearing her wedding ring.  The woman actually took it well and somehow divulged that she was carrying twins... the ensuing conversation about birth rights and who comes out first was both idioticand shockingly hard to stop listening to.  One doesn't find this level of public stupid very often.  You have to take advantage of it even if you don't this it is right.

Needless to say, it was a nightmare Christmas morning for everyone stuck in that Starbucks line.   Being that Starbucks was one of the few places open on Christmas it had a large crowd and the Starbucks losers club had one of its most exciting days of the year. 

I'd pay extra if they'd kick these squatters out and let me wait nervously to order in peace.  And yes, if you spend more than five minutes alone in Starbucks after you have received your drink, you're a loser.  If you crack open a laptop you're a double loser.  If you go there to write a screen play or novel on your laptop - you're a triple loser with lite whip.  Any questions?

The Price You Pay to Live in DC - it's bigger than money

I'm starving for content, so I'm posting stuff I wrote way back in my 20s... also know as 2005.  My then girlfriend, now wife, had been visiting a friend in Missouri and was calling me every five minutes to tell me how awesome their house, neighborhood and life was.  I was fed up and afraid to tell her that, so I wrote down my feelings in a rant.  I replaced Missouri with Kentucky so she wouldn't know I was talking about her.  It worked.

Please enjoy....

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The Price You Pay
 
I got an email from a friend today detailing the lavish life of her friends she is visiting in a moderately populated Midwest state.   I reminded her that life in DC isn't about the lavish accommodations we can't afford; it's about "life in DC."  
 
I explained to her the following - 
 
"Don't get too jealous - they live in Kentucky, the highlight of their year is the county fair.  I gave Bob Dole the finger this morning and was behind an Under Secretary of something at Starbucks today.  I was served coffee by a guy who has more secondary degrees than I have fingers and a bum was soiling himself outside the door while reading the financial times.  We are on different planets so you can't compare life on them given your lack of understanding of your own situation. "
 
This is kind of my "ode to ye person who emailed me and pissed me off".  I'm working on the title it's a little long.
 
So your friend has a huge house and great life in Louisville, Kentucky, big deal.  I bet they didn't get run over by Senator Clinton's security detail on the way into work this morning.   That's the difference between us - make a lot of sacrifices to have the kind of experiences only failed law school applicants dream of.  Let me tell you what it's worth to live here, what it's like to have the many things I have here in DC.
 
I live in what a amounts to a second floor storage closet with an internet connection.  It's heated by technology invented in the late 1800's.   It's cooled by the occasional wind or rainstorm.  I love my storage closet and I love the neighborhood my storage closets is in.  In fact, I brag to my coworkers about the location and "vibe" of my neighborhood every chance I get.    I'm scared to go out at night… and the day.  My neighborhood is the best "up-and-coming" area in DC and I'm a genius for getting in the market so early – I will tell you so if you will listen!
 
I'm jealous of the car I drive because the parking space it resides in is twice the size of my storage closet.   I spend most of my free time working extra jobs to pay for my parking tickets or hunting down parking spaces up to three miles away from storage closet.  The only time I drive my vehicle is to find a new parking space when they decide to declare its current location a "construction zone."   Many times I don't see my vehicle for so long that it has been stolen, sold and returned to the same spot before I go to move it again.  I can't tell you what color my car is, and vaguely remember how to drive.
 
I shop at a little grocery store run by these cute Asians who have houses far outside of DC and take comfort in raping the nation's highest educated professionals on the cost of eggs.   An apple is $5.00 and they're stacked next to bottles of dish soap because the store is actually a utility closet with a lotto counter.  I love my grocery store and will defend its quality produce and prices no matter how many times I get dysentery this year.  After all, I live in the coolest neighborhood in all of DC. Sacrifices will be made, but never admitted to.
 
I drink coffee from Starbucks like it's been brewed by Jesus himself.  I pay $5.00 for a 16 ounce cup of "coffee," which is made up of two ounces of some kind of dark liquid and the other 14 ounces areskim milk heated so it's foamy.   At a grocery store I could have bought three gallons of skim milk and a diet coke for that much money, but I'm happy with my purchase and carry my Starbucks cup like it's a trophy of professional success.    I don't drink it to wake up, I drink it to be seen at Starbucks and let the world know I'm a part of the "it" crowd.  I tap my foot and paw at the music selection CD of the day and pretend to like it so I seem "hip" or "worldly", even though it sounds like someone is kicking a dolphin repeatedly.   I even change my order with the season and have a morning Starbucks run and an afternoon Starbucks run where I sometimes buy tea.  I also love the fact that the "barista" making my coffee hates my guts because I'm a bona fide twit when it comes to coffee, the classical guitar scene and vintage bicycles.   All told, my monthly Starbucks expenditure is in the neighborhood of $6,000 and it's worth every penny.
 
I eat lunch at little delis or buffet places run by Chinese people who enslave El Salvadorians.  The food sucks and it's expensive but I don't let anyone know that.   In fact, I proudly claim that I know the best place to get a cheap lunch even though it's obvious I'm being poisoned and ripped off.   Occasionally I go on a "health kick" and bring my lunch to work.  This "kick" lasts about a week and it usually coincides with the end of the month when I don't have any money.  
 
I take public transportation and act as a spokesperson on behalf of the DC metro system.  I'm especially hard on those people who sit in traffic, drinking warm coffee listening to their satellite radio in an air-conditioned car each morning.   I let them know how convenient my metro trip to the office was even though I was stuck in a dark tunnel for 30 minutes sitting next to a woman with the flu and a guy with fresh red blisters on his face and scalp.   I brag about all the daily news I get by taking the free newspaper with me onto the metro and deny other's assertions that the free newspaper is in fact news for retards.    
 
I go to all the top parties with all the top interns from important offices.  I never pay to go to black tie events where I and others like me "network" over free cocktails made with pigeon piss vodka and expired tonic water.   If I'm lucky I'll hale a cab that is dark blue and could be mistaken for a black Lincoln if you only glanced at it for a moment in the dark.  This will ensure that I give the impression that my employer not only gave me tickets to the event, but they sent me in a car as well.  I will happily tell anyone that will listen that I'm not up for martinis at some hot spot because the hole in the wall in my neighborhood is the best place to drink in DC.   Nobody has to know that it's the only place I can afford to cab back to and have a drink before I go home.  And even at that I'll probably be picking up people's half empty beers when they aren't looking so I can continue my buzz.
 
I have an identification badge which is my validation of success in Washington DC.  I refuse to take my identification badge off even though I don't even need it to get into my building.   I wear it around my neck with my office bathroom key threaded onto the chain right next to it.   The green tinge to the once clear plastic that encases my picture and employee number indicates that I also shower with it still around my neck.
 
I bathe in water I won't even wash my dishes in because the pipes to my storage closet are older than the wheel.  The water corroded the bottom of the new stainless steel sink in a day.   I boil the water I drink because it melted through my Brita.  The ice cubes that my fridge make are brown and can walk.    There's no point in flushing the toilet my addition to it is an upgrade.
 
I pay taxes like no one has ever paid taxes before.  I bought my storage closet for $400,000 and its value went up $3.4 million dollars in eight weeks.   I pay $679,000 each year in property taxes.   I pay roughly $300 a month for garbage disposal, but it's usually the wind that carries my trash away.    My income tax is twice what I actually make and I'm required to give half the contents of my fridge to anyone in my trendy up-and-coming neighborhood who has a child and isn't working, which is everybody. 

I enjoy the DC zoo because it's one of the rare places on earth you can see a Yak in the same pen as a 15 lbs. sewer rat.    The birds are very pretty, especially the inbred two headed albino pigeons who manage to shit on me even in the rain.  I own the biggest dog you can stuff in a storage closet and he gets to go outside once a day where I use him to meet women who don't love themselves, but love dogs.   I take my dog to "doggy socials" because I'm too much of a social leper myself to go to "people socials."  My dog has more friends than I do… I even go buy cards to send to my dog's friends from my dog.   People I live and work with accept this as normal and healthy.
 
I laugh at the people who live in the burbs with all the grass and allergens out there.  I'm happy with the 4'X 6' patch of grass we have down the street.   Sometimes I rub my face in it just to get a couple of sneezes out for old time sake.  The smell of frying pigeon poop has become something of a delight to wake up to in the summer months.   And the dying gasps of your neighbors right before they succumb from carbon monoxide poisoning because they didn't open the flue on their chimney has become a comforting sound in the winter.
 
I love my city and my city living.  I don't care how big your house is or how many teachers in your kid's high school aren't sex offenders, I love my city.  On this point I will not budge!

This is Why I Hate Starbucks People - Pumpkin Spice Lattes

Click HERE to find out everything Starbucks would like you to know about a Pumpkin Spice Latte.  Read below if you'd like to know what I think about the cultural blight that is a Pumpkin Spice Latte.

(legal note: I will not be capitalizing "Pumpkin Spice Latte" the rest of the way because 1. I don't want to and 2. the drink doesn't deserve it.)

So, some of you have to go change your pants right now because I dared talk shit about your favorite "for a limited time only" drink and you peed a little when you pounded your fist so hard against your formica desk in anger (I don't believe anyone who reads this is of a status to have a desk made of real wood).  I do not apologize.  You shouldn't be that mad and your bladder shouldn't have been that full.  Cut back on the pumpkin spice lattes and maybe these things wouldn't happen to you.   Turn back now if you can't take it because it's going to get worse.

For the record, my wife loves pumpkin spice lattes.  She loves them for the same reason you do - they're seasonal.  Don't even try to tell me they taste good.  If that were true they would sell them every day of the year.  That's the selling cycle for good shit - all the time.  The bad shit - some of the time. 

Do not trot out your McRib argument here - it's not the same thing.  It's based on the price of pork and it's actually good.  In fact, they may have had to take the McRib to "limited availability" status in order to save us from ourselves.  It will not surprise you that my wife also loves the McRib.  Although, her reaction to McRib season is that of a ravenous lion given her actual affinity for the taste of the processed meat product barbecue sandwich.  It is rather unlike her pumpkin latte reaction for reasons I will make clear below.

Starbucks people like to think they are unique.  They live in a world of false uniqueness created by Starbucks. A world where their custom order at Starbucks sets them apart from others.  Their on-line dating profile contains a reference to their Starbucks custom order because that's what they think is most important about themselves. 

The only time of year that Starbucks people lose their uniqueness is in the fall when Americans suddenly remember pumpkins are edible.  Pumpkins, like every other major fruit and vegetable, are available year round due to something people now call a "global economy."  However, we tend to ignore them until about October and then forget them minutes after the Detroit Lions lose on national TV (that's a Thanksgiving Day reference that I'm sorry you didn't get).   All of sudden for about two months a year we become pumpkin fanatics.   We've got pumpkin in everything from bread and pie to beer, ice cream and body soap (seriously).  Pumpkin becomes like turkey - placed into a lot of things it doesn't belong for reasons that are not completely clear.  I don't need pumpkin tasting beer nor do I need turkey jerky or turkey hot dogs, buts that's another story for another time.

So, it's only natural that Starbucks would latch onto the pumpkin bandwagon and drag it into their cozy little corporate world and kill it with vintage Carly Simon albums.  People in Starbucks are impressed with "new" as much as they are "unique."  Add "scarce" or "infrequent" to the mix and you have the perfect product for Starbucks assholes to enjoy at the top of their lungs.  What?  You've never noticed that Starbucks people must explain how awesome their selection is to everyone?  Then you aren't paying attention, my friend.

This is how the announcement went down among the Starbucks assholes in my office:

(read in a valley girl voice for full effect)

Starbucks asshole Karen - "OH-MY-GOD?!?!?! Since when do you only get a tall latte Judy?" 

Starbucks asshole Judy - "Oh, well it's not my normal double shot half pump mocha, half pump vanilla chai latte with granulated cinnamon and light whip.  It's a Pumpkin Spice Latte!"

Judy takes a drink at this point and really tries not to make a face like she just swallowed a spoon full of worms.

All Starbucks assholes in unison - "OH-MY-GOD?!?!?!!? it's Pumpkin Spice Latte time again! YEAH!!!"

The whole gaggle of assholes went down the block to get their tall pumpkin spice lattes instead of their normal venti-sized inventions.  The reason everyone got a "tall" was simple - pumpkin spice lattes suck.  There's no way these Starbucks assholes are going order a large cup of pumpkin piss - they're not going to drink the whole thing, it tastes like shit.  They're ordering the pumpkin spice latte so they can tell people that they had a pumpkin spice latte.  Nobody orders a pumpkin spice latte and keeps it to themselves - that would defeat the purpose. Ordering a pumpkin spice latte requires one to repeatedly post about it on Facebook and Twitter appealing to other people who truly think others are envious of their access to the rare and expensive palate punisher.  Even deaf people have their own sign for pumpkin spice latte, because spelling it all out was an inefficient way of bragging - by the third "P" they were losing their audience. 

Some of you are reading this and are denying the fact that pumpkin spice lattes taste like shit.  Believe me, I have had a pumpkin spice latte - it tastes like shit if shit was infused with pumpkin. In a moment of drunk clarity/honesty a Starbucks asshole I know has admitted to me that he doesn't actually like the taste of a pumpkin spice latte.  It's a status stimulator, not a palate stimulator. 

My wife has four half-full pumpkin spice lattes in the fridge right now that she swears she's going to finish.  She won't.  Same thing in the work refrigerator - pumpkin spice lattes rotting amongst Lean Cuisines and week-old ham sandwiches.  That's all the proof  I need.  Nobody likes pumpkin spice lattes, but nobody can admit it.  Admitting you don't like pumpkin spice lattes out loud to your Starbucks asshole group would be like running into a crowd of middle-aged white people and declaring that you don't like the Beatles - it's very bad for your future as a part of society.  You just don't do it. 

So... go ahead Starbucks assholes - painfully sip your shitty little drink and tell everyone about it.  Just know that I know the truth.  I will not "like" your "Having a pumpkin spice latte in autumn - love this time of year!" status update.  I will not retweet your "leaves, sweaters and pumpkin spice lattes is how I know it's fall!" tweet.  I will not even engage you in conversation about the matter.  I will simply sit here and wait patiently to announce to the world that the Eggnog Latte has arrived. 

This is Why I Hate Starbucks People - Reason/Exhibit #2

Mother's Day forces dads to do a lot of shit they don't want to do.  Brunch comes to mind immediately.  Not getting drunk at brunch is the next thought.   A million other scenarios ending with me repeatedly sticking an imaginary fork in my eye flood my mind after those initial horrors.  The point is - great day for her and a shitty day for me. 

It was especially shitty this year since I decided to start the day's festivities off with a run to Starbucks with our 20 month old who is possessed by the exuberance and energy of a Jack Russel Terrier and the destructive power of a tornado wrapped inside a tsunami that has hurricanes for arms and legs and volcano head that shoots hot snot lava.  Small crowded places where she isn't allowed to touch anything just happen to set her off like a match to gasoline.  About one tenth of one second after crossing the threshold of the door at Starbucks - I realized I had made a major mistake.

As you all know, I hate Starbucks for numerous reasons.  I'll be spending the next few years listing all of them on this blog, so stay tuned.  The only reason I was there is because my wife loves Starbucks.  I figured I'd spare her the "best part of waking up" option we both hate (but refuse to change for some reason) that morning seeing as it was "her day" and all.  Like getting fouled while shooting the three and sinking it - I had a rare opportunity for a four point play.  She loves Starbucks = +2 points.  I hate Starbucks and she knows what a sacrifice it is for me to actually go inside one and be among Starbucks people = +2. 

It's 7:30 in the morning on a Sunday and I'm at the Starbucks off of Spout Run (next to The Italian Store!) hoping to have beat the morning crowd.  I'm quickly reminded of the fact that rich white people have nothing better to do than wake up at dawn and go sit around drinking very expensive coffee with complete strangers.   The place is packed.  Picture Pizza Mart in Adams Morgan at 2:30 a.m. and then imagine everyone  is the type of person who drives a Mercedes - that's what we're talking about here. 

The guy in front of me in line  is in his mid fifties, way too skinny for his age and sopping wet with sweat.  He ran to the Starbucks.  My kid wants to do only one thing in life at that point - touch his nasty ass sweat infused shirt.   I'm trying to keep my distance, but the lady behind me is literally standing on my heels as if applying pressure to my personal space will speed up the baristas.  It's a shit show from the word go and I'm stuck between the two leads.

Slowing everything down is not only the fact that lattes take longer to make than glaciers, but the witty morning banter between the baristas and the regulars that interrupts the actual making of the coffee.  I'm one of only a few people in the place who aren't on a first name basis with the staff.  If I was that chummy with the baristas I could  have easily let them know that the 30 pound human nuclear bomb I was holding  was about to lose her shit and turn this place into the scene of a Mexican cartel shootout if things didn't start moving along.  Unfortunately for everyone - I did not have that kind established relationship with the hippies on staff.

Once we're about three people back from ordering, my little baby girl's head turned all the way around 360 degrees a couple of times signaling the start of World War III.  She's flinging everything she can put her hands on across the room and what she doesn't throw, she puts in her mouth requiring that I buy it.  Sweaty old guy in front of me is oblivious to this and takes his time catching up with Hippie McDipshit behind the counter before he even starts to order.  In a sudden moment of awareness the lead hippie playing rover behind the counter decides it might be a good idea if they get started on my drink.  For that, I was grateful. 

Thank you lead hippie.  May your weed be sticky, purple and by prescription from now on.

Back to the show...

Sweaty old guy ordered three drinks, by the way.  Two lattes - one iced, one hot and some kind of ice-fruit-drink -coffee-thingy.  At this point I f*cking hate old sweaty guy like no single other person on earth has ever hated another person before.   I would punch him, but I'm afraid I might touch his shirt. 

I tell Hippie McDipshit what I ordered and place the dozen or so plastic wrapped chocolate nut scones on the counter that have been claimed via saliva by my daughter.  A mortgage payment later I'm declining the offer of a receipt and headed to a safe spot to wait for my wife's coffee. 

Tom Petty once said "waiting is the hardest part," and he was right.   I also think he and Dwight Yoakam are the same person, but that's another post for another day.

What makes waiting hard at Starbucks are the assholes who waited in the long line to order, know that there are lots of people waiting for their drinks that ordered decades before them, but decide to stand as close to the pick up counter as possible without actually touching the guy making drinks.   These assholes are shocked every single time the barista calls out an order and it's not theirs.  It's as if they have in their mind that the barista took their order and thought "f*ck these people who have been waiting, I'm going to bump this guy's order to the front since he's obviously awesome."

You would have thought that after the next four drinks called weren't theirs and people had to plow their way through them to pick up their drinks, they'd get the picture.  They didn't and they generally don't.  Being in the way isn't something a Starbucks customer is capable of noticing.  That would mean they would have to engage in some kind of self-awareness or self-reflection exercise and if they were aware of their status as the skid mark on the underwear of modern consumerism - they might stop going to Starbucks!  We wouldn't want that, would we?

Figuring out that you're a Starbucks asshole is a lot harder than dealing with the fact that you wore parachute pants or thought it was perfectly acceptable to play Chumbawamba's "Tubthumping" at full volume on repeat in your car as your drove through campus.  On the list of the hardest things to find out about yourself, being a Starbucks asshole is second behind finding out you're Hitler's love child and just in front of realizing you're being considered for the next season of the Jersey Shore.  It's pretty bad.

In the end Mommy got her tall double shot white mocha while it was still hot.  She's not too happy about the $50 of crap we had to buy because the kid either broke it or tongued it, but she'll get over it after she reads this harrowing tale of how her coffee came to be that morning.  Or... she'll be offended by this post since she likes Starbucks and I'll have to explain how she's different than the people I'm talking about even though she totally isn't. 

Wish me luck.  And don't you dare get me a Starbucks gift card.

This is Why I Hate Starbucks People - Reason/Exhibit #1

I was cruising www.craigslist.org this afternoon looking for some material for our "This Week on Craigslist" feature and found a wonderful little "missed connection." A lot of people who frequent Starbucks are assholes and I just happened to find one who turned to craigslist to prove it.

You can see the whole thing HERE. 

The title of the "missed connection" reads: "to the A-hole who works at Starbucks - m4m"

This is what immediately caught my attention.  You've got "Starbucks" and "A-hole" in the same sentence and they are the only two words they bothered to capitalize - this is going to be good.  Although, I'm unsure why the poster didn't just write the whole word "asshole" out... it's craiglist - "asshole" isn't the worst thing you'll read on that website. 

The body of the "missed connection" reads:

"Yeah, you know what dude, you may love being awesome, but 1) you know you were a dick this morning and 2) Yeah no shit, newpapers arent free! Did I try to steal it? NO! Did I take it outside to read it? NO! I merely grabbed one to read while I ate breakfast. Do you not 'get' Starbucks? Thats what people do. They go to Starbucks, get a cup of joe and read the paper! I can pretty much guarantee you I am not the only who takes a paper just to read. I always fold it up again and put it back. I bet you lose more money from people putting unsold papers in the recycle bin. Actually Ive always thought you were pretty much an ass who sucks at customer service, but today confirmed it. Yeah Im done with your store. Lighten the hell up, A-hole. "

So, I really wanted to think going into this post that the guy who works at Starbucks is really the asshole.  Turns out that it's the Starbucks customer whose the real asshole.  Let's break this down.

I'm not sure the best way to insult someone who made you mad is to call them out by saying "you may love being awesome, but..."  That's kind of like admitting that you think they're pretty great and you're mad because they're aware of it.  What kind of idiot thinks a Starbucks barista is "awesome?"  The kind of idiot who'd call him out on craiglist, I guess.

The Starbucks customer goes on to make himself look like a theiving asshole and the barista, who "loves being awesome," like a decent guy trying to do his job. 

Nobody in their right mind thinks it's okay to take a brand new New York Times off of the shelf, rifle through it with their greasy breakfast fingers and then put it back without paying for it.  Even if the customer folds it nicely, nobody is going to buy that paper later - it's obvious someone has been through it. 

Needless to say, the product that the barista was hoping to sell for a profit was off of the sales floor and out of reach of potential customers for the entire time this asshole was "eating breakfast."  What a jackass. 

The worst part is that he's one of those customers who thinks he can define what the Starbucks "experience" is because he goes there all of the time.  If you believe this guy's perception of how Starbucks works, you can take anything you want off of the sales floor and use it as long as you don't go outside with it.  Want your vanilla latte in a nice Starbucks mug, but don't want to pay for the mug?  Just put your coffee in it and enjoy it - just don't leave the store with it.  If you're lucky, they'll wash it for you so you use it again the next day.

I partly blame the freeloader attitude and atmosphere on Starbucks. They could have ended this crap years ago, but caved into the leeches every singe time.  If they want to know how the cycle of mooching ends, just ask any of the folks in the retail bookstore business.