Ginger Pop: Mermaid Smack
Once upon a time I lived in a world where I made my own coffee. I bought some cheap stuff and eyeballed it as I put it in the filter. It was pre-ground. Some days I didn’t even have coffee: I drank tea or some other beverage. On occasion I’d even drop into the gas station to pick up their stuff. In essence, I was free.
And then a young lady, who happens to write for this blog, gave me Starbucks. There were whole beans, and a grinder, and a gift card. She pumped me full of it, whispering her suggestions of drink to try and ways to enhance the flavor. The sickness soon gripped me and I could not shake it.
My Starbucks addiction is an ugly thing. I’m in no way proud of it. Twice a week I hit the Starbucks because anymore would break me. The rest of the time I subsist on Via packets made with a heavy heart.
Those who know my addiction, know it’s pull. We go out of our way to get the fix. We count down the days to red cups. We rattle off our orders like our phone numbers. (And I will note that I do not trust people who don’t have an order at Starbucks. That doesn’t seem natural.)
Mondays and Wednesdays at about 6:15 am I drive into my Starbucks. If my normal girl is there, she confirms I want a “vegan and Hobbs,” which is my special order of a Venti Americano with a splash of soy milk (she calls that the ‘vegan’) and a Venti Iced Double Vanilla Latte (for a colleague of mine, Dr. Hobbs). When I’m in the money, I might splurge on a soy latte.
What about you, readers? What’s your poison?