How Starbucks Always Gives me the Middle Finger
"Welcome to Starbucks, how can we tell you to go fuck yourself?", is what the fatty's really saying, taking her time waddling up to the counter. This time its a fat obnoxious tool of the Starbucks' employee assembly line, last week it was a kind demure Indian girl, preceded by a transgender something or other making me wonder how I should feel in the pants and before that, well, you get the idea. The tools of Starbucks put on their happy condescending faces wether working a store or the Barnes and Noble cafe as you consider which way to get fucked up the ass for either shitty coffee or powdery sugary GMO filled variations of Carvel's ice cream menu from the 1980s.Frappucino with colonic shots, anus brewed vanilla Guatemalan slave labor blonde, super unicorn purple crack overdose acid flashback sprinklchino, the flavors and options change almost weekly it seems with me and every asshole in America coughing up bucks to drink it. Sure there's Dunkin Donuts but their coffees like drinking syrup water and the radio's too loud there while indie coffeehouses charge you an organ for their crap with anemic pale waitresses expecting tips for bringing you coffee and stale shitty pastries. I know this cause I'm a writer and artist and my creature of habit dictates me hitting a Starbucks or Barnes and Noble several times a week to give me inspiration and change of pace from whatever shithole I'm living in. I know this because like most adults and their screaming kids hopped upon diabetic GMO sundaes, I'm a slave of the Green Fairy.
"So what can I get started for you" today's fatty asks before firing today's first shot in the ongoing war between me and Starbucks. See I'm an asshole for many reasons but the prime reason is that I got a certain organ crammed between my asshole and testicles, an organ nobody gives a fuck to talk about but drives me crazy 24/7, THE PROSTATE. Because of this thing, referred to by my old Ecuadorian buddy at the Cheesecake Factory as "something the size of a pea that expands and shrinks depending on hot or cold and sexual arousal" I can't be drinking coffee the way I was in my twenties. No, thanks to Petey Prostate as I sometimes, actually never call my prostate, I've had three prostate checkups since the age of 30 and now have to constantly watch my caffeine. After the first time my doctor slammed his fingers up my ass and made me collapse crying like Ned Beatty after the rape scene in "Deliverance" I was actually like, "ok so what I can't drink it as much", not yet accepting the idea I couldn't be as caffeinated as my writing heroes Poe, Miller, Thompson and Hemingway, who most certainly drank and smoked other things but still had their coffee. On went the years until after the third prostate check and still no dinner provided afterwards by my doctor I realized the gig was up. So now for the last 4 years, wether its at a Starbucks or Barnes and Noble, who always proudly, snottily reveal they only sell Starbucks just as Starbucks Rewards customers are about to whip out their cards and be denied rewards, I've been at war with the robotic employees running the Green Fairy's coffee machine.
"You got any decaf coffee?", I ask already riled up, knowing by now from the faces if there will be prostate sympathy or total, robotic service of the Starbucks empire insisting some bullshit. I know by fatty's face already that she don't give a fuck about my prostate and most certainly is too lazy to make a pot of decaf.
"We don't have any decaf but can give you the overpriced Clover style bullshit decaf," she basically replies forcing me into submission. Its been four years of this crap, with very few Starbucks ever having decaf coffee, especially at night, with every tool wether kind or snotty like mcfatty pants insisting I could either:
a) go to Dunkin Donuts and fuck myself
or b) selling me the idea that their disgusting Americano will be great done as decaf which most of the times leads to
c) Ordering the equivalent of coffee mixed with cigarette butts while adding expensive Carvel 1980s menu flavor shots.
Tonight I decided to go with the stupid bullshit Clover, once again seeing how Starbucks doesn't give a shit about compensating for their lack of decaf coffee by never charging me the price of a regular cup of coffee. No they never ever give a fuck that they could've made a new pot of decaf or are serving an America where 161, 360 men have prostate cancer or related illnesses. Because they PROFIT from not having decaf coffee made. My Clover bullshit coffee was a dollar extra while the Americano is at least 75 cents more. Way to go Starbucks for profiting off the health risks of American white, black and latino men.
I get the Clover bullshit decaf coffee with a perky fake smile before resigning to my seat to write and use my laptop. I know its a free country and many reading this, if people read this much anymore, will suggest I just go to D and D or stay home. Fact is like I said, I do both but with my artist's soul and writer's brain I need changes of pace and atmosphere often to invoke ideas, muses and simply getting through the day. Thus the Starbucks element to my already embattled existence. I guess its pretty insane ranting and raving about wanting decaf coffee from a place centered around caffeinated beverages but I got italian german and irish genes and a writer's spirit that loves the taste of coffee as well as the American idea of writing your dreams down, traveling to other worlds in your head and creating art fueled by a simple cup of joe. The sad part is now that American idea for me means going to war almost daily to save my life and be deprived of what most take for granted, a simple cup of coffee.
GMO Sundae
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