Thursday, December 15, 2016

The Whitest Girl Coffee You Know, Part 2

You know, I have to admit it.  I love having fun with Starbucks baristas.  I've done it before, and I did it again.  To know what I am talking about, check out my first post about my Starbucks misadventures.

The day started out kind of mixed.  You see, it was day two of my Dad and I heading to West Virginia to attend my Grandmother's (his Mother) funeral service.  We had just crossed into West Virginia when Dad admitted he needed some coffee to keep the yawns and sleepiness at bay. 

We stopped into the Princeton travel plaza that had a Starbucks.  Dad just wanted plain black coffee.  I thought about what I wanted and that's when it came to me.  I didn't need coffee.  I needed "White Girl" coffee. 

I walk up to the barista, and I told her, "Imagine I was the whitest girl you knew.  My name would be Rebecca, (and this next part I said in my best Valley Girl) but all my friends call me Becky!  What drink would I order?"

So basically imagine that I would look like this.

Oh let's be honest, I would "totally" look like Amanda Seyfried.

Anyway, she thinks for about it for five seconds and says, "White mocha or pink ..."

"That's it!!!!"  I exclaimed!  "I want the white mocha on ice!"

She asked, "What size do you want?"

"I want the big one!  I don't know the name of it since I don't speak Italian, but I want the big one!"

To which she said, "Well, at least you knew it was Italian.  I had one woman who thought it was French." 

So she sets about making me the perfect white girl coffee.  She was very meticulous and careful about measuring every unit perfectly.  I think she was drawn to my spirit and as such, she wanted to make the most perfect white girl coffee that had ever been made.

She then asked, "Do you want whip cream on it?"

I responded with an enthusiastic, "Oh yes!  And if you have a cherry you can put it on top as well."

She looked me straight in the eye, and said, "I don't have cherries, ... but I do have strawberries."

My gaze met her gaze, and I said, "That's even better."

She told me in a matter of fact voice, "I didn't think you could make that coffee any more "white girl," but you did." 

I nodded in the fact that we were both on the same page.  We had only just met, but we knew each other so intimately, and it was all due to white girl coffee.

She handed me the wonderfully magical cup, and said, "Thank you sir."

I looked her in the eye and said, "Call me Becky."

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