By Amethyst Strickland
Published on February 13, 2008
I strolled through the large double doors and immediately felt that I’d entered a safe haven amidst the sprawl of urban insanity. My senses were overwhelmed with the sweeping aroma of coffee mired with subtle scents of cinnamon.
Yes, Starbucks boasts an experience all its own as millions flock daily to this welcoming atmosphere to receive their daily buzz from the stimulant known as coffee.
At the counter one can feel the cashier’s- I mean “barista’s” – eyes piercing the air, not to mention the death stares from behind shouting in unison “Make up your mind already!”
“Iced soy latte,” I announced.
“Iced cafeacute; latte in soy?” she replied, as if for clarification.
Why does it seem that an order, no matter how it is stated, must be reiterated back with some adjustment?
She asked me for my name. Anticipating the lengthy process which was likely to follow, I said, “Amethyst,” with an attempt at proper articulation.
“Is that your real name?!” the young loquacious barista inquired.
I resisted the urge to be sardonic and answered a simple “Yes,” rather than the “No, it’s just my alias,” that threatened to come out.
I wandered to a vacant orange easy chair in the corner. Smooth jazz sent my subconscious sailing to a vague, yet pleasant destination. I was jolted back to reality by the sound of my name being announced-well, an attempt at my name anyway.
Fishy-faced, I slurped up the sweet, cooling elixir.
As my eyes wandered about the room, I noticed a stark contrast between the customers who had their beverage and those who still waited in line. Those seated around me coolly sipped their lattes, enjoying the mood of euphoric calmness it brought.
The customers in line, however, stood in an impatient, zombie-like fashion. Much like addicts, they wait anxiously to purchase their “fix,” which, when lacking or delayed, threatens to deprive them of both function and sanity.
Suddenly, I was thrown into an odd examination of the similarities between caffeine addicts and addicts of “other” substances. “Caffeine onsets the munchies,” I thought as I observed a wide-eyed collegiate.
He clutched an empty Venti as he scarfed down a brownie the size of my head.
“Caffeine makes one want more caffeine,” I considered.
Suddenly, a blond diva forced open the back door. She promenaded to the counter and asked, with many interjections of “like,” if they were accepting applications.
“Interesting,” I pondered, “one of many caffeine addicts move from user to ‘dealer’ to support their habit.”
The light had begun to grow dim. I gathered my things with munchies on my mind and headed out the double doors, but not before stopping by the counter to request my own “dealer’s” application.
