Coffee was high on my agenda this morning. Actually, you could say it was my agenda. But the idea of cleaning out the coffee maker again was too much for me to get my head around. Instead I decided to go over to Starbucks and make use of one of my gift cards from Christmas.
But since the Starbucks is only three quarters of a mile away, the idea of driving there weighed heavy on my eco-conscience. So I decided to walk over. But then my dog, The Nudge gave me the “you’re going out and not taking me?” look. “Oh, very well then,” I said to The Nudge and harnessed him up. He needed an outing anyway.
At the Starbucks The Nudge went bonkers everytime I tried to go into the store. The kind of bonkers that involve screams and yelps usually reserved for death-throes. So there I stood with my empty mug in hand and a mere 15 feet from the barista, but I couldn’t get inside to get my joe. Nor could I get any of the Starbucks people to come out to me. (I tried. I am curious what they thought of me.)
We headed back home. Once home I hoped in the car and headed back, defeating the whole point of not driving there, but I’d already been out for a while and I had work I need to do.
At the Starbucks the lady rang up my coffee purchase, then knocked off 10
Sweet deal! It’s about time (for that dime!).
Light-and-sweet deal! Or do you drink your Dirk Benedict black?
Black, my friend. Always bet on black. Which brings up a side issue with the training of baristas these days. My order is always “black coffee, please.” Invariably, they will ask, “room for cream?” Yet, they can create a “tall, no foam soy latte with a double shot of vanilla” without further inquiry. But black coffee befuddles them.