You know how sometimes when you may or may not be hungover? And you dream all night about drinking ice cold water and wake up with cotton mouth? And you have to go to work and know that since you have no food in the house (because you have regressed to living like a student, subsisting on KD and hot dogs), the only way to get through the morning is with a pitstop at the devil's house?
Yes, I do mean Starbucks.
You know that morning?
Maybe that happened to me today. I got to Starbucks, prepared to sacrifice the GDP of a small country for a subpar warm beverage. Perhaps my voice was totally effed from an evening of wine drinking. Or perhaps the woman manning the Starbucks counter, you know that place where people come when they aren't fully human yet because they have yet to receive their caffeine injection, was an idiot and should have been paying more attention.
It would also have been nice if whoever is responsible for ordering supplies (important things like tea and coffee when you are running a coffee shop) would recognize that earl grey tea is actually really popular and rooibos isn't a good subsititute and possibly could make sure that they have enough earl grey tea to make my f*cking drink?
I've already made the concession to call it a tea latte instead of the former tea misto, which was Starbucks speak for a London Fog. Can you maybe meet me halfway and provide the right effing tea?
So that's kind of where things stand now. I have my tea sitting on my desk. Waiting for me to drink it. But I hesitate because I know that instead of the comforting, vanilla-y, earl greyness, my tastebuds will instead encounter some foreign, non earl greyness. And I'm not sure that I'm prepared for that.
Yup. That's disgusting.
I could have saved a village with the amount of money I paid for that crap.
In my caffeine and food deprived monday hating state, I actually thought I made up the word unhappy. Really I did. I sent an email to my friend this morning telling her I was all unhappy-like. And I paused, and thought to myself: unhappy should be a word. Gosh I'm clever.
Not clever. Hungover. On a Monday. With crap tea.
I'm not even sure that its going to be any fun rubbing in the fact that The Boyfriend bought me a brand new, gorgeous, supple leather, limited edition bag for my birthday. Veronica, of the look-at-these-carnations-my-boyfriend-got-me, is going to sh*t. It should be a joyful occasion. I just don't think I have the energy to make it count. And that's sad. When all the joy of one-upping the Queen of One Upness has been leeched from me. Its a dark day when that happens.
Damn you Starbucks.
Do you guys think that Starbucks googles themselves like the a certain transit authority does? That's all I need to make my day complete. A war with Starbucks.