Order: “Hi, I’d like a venti non-fat, no foam, no water, six-pump extra hot chai tea latte, and make it quick.”
Translation: Just because I’m changing a diaper while I place this order doesn’t mean I won’t punch you in the brain if you get it wrong.
Order: “Could I please have a grande coffee in a venti cup, with two pumps of hazelnut, two pumps vanilla, two “Sugar in the Raw,” four “Sweet and Lows,” extra whip, small cup of whip on the side, and a caramel lattice pattern that looks like a spider-web?”
Translation: My parents didn’t let me have Halloween candy.
Order: “Hi, I’d like a 16-ounce black coffee.”
Translation: My aggressive refusal to engage you civilly in your environment signifies my individuality. I am an immoveable object standing alone against the tidal wave of corporate hegemony. In my head I look kind of like Mad Max, except holding a briefcase, and Katherine Hoffer from fifth grade is there and she finally sees that I’m different from the other guys on the inside. Together we ride through a post-apocalyptic landscape, and you and your coffee empire are naught but dust and bone…Man, this is really bitter, could you put some ice cream in it or something?
