Why I Can Never Return to My Hometown Starbucks
Okay, I'm allowed to go back. But I choose not to in order to protect myself from personal shame (and because I moved).
This is a story I never thought I would tell out loud, but with the state of the world nowadays, I thought we could all use a good laugh at my expense.
Here's what happened:
It was a gorgeous summer day, sometime around 2016. My white girl senses were tingling for some coffee, so I asked my sister if she would like me to pick up some Starbucks.
She said yes, and I was off to the Starbucks drive-thru. The line was long, but the weather was nice so I didn't mind.
I turned up my radio, and decided to sing along in my car to pass the time.
Well, I was a few cars away from the window and singing my heart out to Selena Gomez's "Hands to Myself" when I realized something devastating...
I. Forgot. To. ORDER.
I had been so distracted by the music that I never rolled down my window at the speaker. The poor drive-thru guy was probably desperately trying to get my attention, watching me dance away in his camera like an idiot.
And to make matters worse, there were tons of cars behind me, so I couldn't back up and fix my mistake.
By the time I reached the window, I was in full panic-mode, hoping that I could just quickly order my drink anyway.
But the window. Never. Opened. So, out of sheer embarrassment, I drove away with no lattes to my name.
And then I remembered that I had offered to get coffee for my sister. I couldn't return home empty-handed.
So I drove ten minutes, in complete silence, to another Starbucks where I had not yet soiled my reputation as a human being and made sure I remembered to order.
I may not have had my pride, but at least I had my iced coffee.