A Notion of Importance

"I'll have a triple venti, half-caff, sugar-free, vanilla, skim latte". "You want a triple venti, half-caff, sugar-free vanilla, skim latte?" "Yeah", she mumbled as she dug deep into her Coach bag while quickly fetching her falling Dulce & Gabana glasses from her mound of perfectly highlighted hair. "That'll be 8.79. I NEED A TRIPLE VENTI, HALF-CAFF, SUGAR-FREE, VANILLA, SKIM LATTE!" I stood there, knowing I should have disregarded my desire to step out of my comfortable, non-conformist box by visiting this urbanized, over-priced, commercial deliverer of the Nectar of the Gods I commonly refer to as ..."coffee". Fact-of-the-matter is, I did not disregard such notion.

It all started three weeks ago at a fine dining restaurant in my quaint little town known locally to have the best wine selection to accommodate every plausible desire of dinner one may have. I had a fantastic (let me also mention that I only bring this up now, in the middle of my story only to express the fact that my mind quickly retreated back to this very evening as I stood behind Trista Trophywife) dinner of five courses with two appetizers, two entrees, and a wonderful creme brule. With the exception of the last mentioned, each course served with an astounding wine of baroque proportion from a far away land like... Portugal, Italy, and even Southern California, and Austin, Texas. The last of the courses brought out, being the desert, was recommended with either a rich Honduran coffee or a sweet Port from an undisclosed vineyard in Naples. Not having a fancy for Port and being an utter addict of coffee, I opted for the first recommendation from the waiter-by-day-theatre-actor-by-night server. Little did I know this moment was going to change my life and in fact one of my morals. I quickly drank the first of the series of three cups of warm, delicious, smooth... not-over-roasted, coffee with no cream, but a tad of raw turbine sugar. You see, I am somewhat of an activist of the Planet and try to consume less when given the utmost convenience provided, and this moment provided just such. The second was sipped down more slowly with a tad of cream and a slightly smaller than regular spoon-full of sugar. Having worked in the "food service industry" (in an effort to be politically correct) I know that the likely hood of getting a cup of decaf on request means little to nothing in the eyes of anyone paid an average of two dollars and thirteen cents in a job that pays the bills while he or she pursues a life of vibrancy through some other passion. Bottom line: I wasn't gettin' decaf. I couldn't help my new love for this exotic Honduran coffee! I thought perhaps I'd found a new bean! Something yet to hit the mass-supermarket aisles! Something so rare that my little locally owned corner-store coffee shop could not afford yet! Eureka! I've found the perfect coffee bean!! Somewhere near the end of my third cup, they are after all eight ounce cups and I'm used to at least twenty ounces each morning...I decided I had to know more of this romantically alluring steaming cup of goodness. I inquired of our ambiguously gay server for more information of my new Central American Amore. This is where my great revelation came. "Oh, it's just Starbucks." I blinked. I swallowed, quickly recanting on all my pleasure of my three oh-so-enticing cups of delicious hot blackness that the people of Honduras had hand-picked especially for my liking! I JUST ENJOYED STARBUCKS FAR MORE THAN I'VE EVER ENJOYED ANOTHER CUP OF COFFEE!!! Panic rushed through my veins, knowing I had just compromised my boycott, my largest and most staunch boycott I proudly boast of! GONE! I inhaled, swallowed again, smiled politely, and expressed my tribute to his returned civility.

Jump forward two and half weeks... here I am, behind Trista Trophywife, standing in line in my jeans, flip flops, and cap on a cool morning as the world quietly slumbers through the fog and drizzle. I thought I could sneak in and out before I noticed my own presence. Thank you, Trista; You are the single source behind my failure at this feeble attempt. Well, you and your triple venti, half-caff, sugar free, vanilla, skim latte of course, but I do not despise you for your absurd, insane, ridiculous, status-quo coffee order! No, it isn't you to blame.. it is The Man. The Man of delicious Honduran Coffee which created a mammoth desire upon my pallet for more! For The Man has made this accessible to you. I cannot hate you for that. I can however hate you for digging for change for approximately two minutes and thirty five seconds for seventy-nine cents rather than just getting twenty one in change.