Random acts of Starbucks

So we ran out of coffee beans this morning. This is a bad thing. My children stayed conspicuously absent during our usually chaotic morning routine. They knew that a mommy void of caffeine was not to be trifled with.

We all marched into the car at the ridiculously early hour of 7am so we’d have time to stop at Starbucks, get to the eye doctor to pick up Levi’s new specks, and still get to school by 8. The drive-thru was packed so I decided to run inside for my fix. But alas, the number of customers in line so far outweighed the number of baristas, I made the call that waiting was not an option.

I got back in the car, sans java, my children were horrified. But then a ray of sunshine emerged. The drive thru lane was nearly empty. I revved the engine and high-tailed it into the line, nearly running over a crossing patron and a family of quail. But it was all an illusion. By the time I turned the corner and got sandwiched into the line, I saw that there were still four cars ahead of me. I calmly ordered my double tall non-fat cap and a bagel for Eli, who had once again forgotten to eat breakfast. I tried to breathe deeply and still my anxiousness. The boys remained silent in the back seat.

I nearly lost it when the woman in front of me seemed to be carrying on a deep and thoughtful conversation at the pick-up window. “Come on,” I thought. “Are you never going to drive away?”

Finally she did and it was my turn to secure my caffeinated drug of choice. I held out a $5 bill, knowing that my total was $4.18. The window lady just smiled at me. We were late and getting more behind as she vapidly flashed her pearly whites. Why wouldn’t she just take my money and free us from this eternal hell?

“The lady before you paid for your stuff,” she happily announced. I was dumbfounded. “She did?” I stammered. “Why that’s…unbelievable.” My kids started giggling gleefully. My fin waved freely in the soft windy breeze. “Well, take this and pay for the guy behind me,” I asserted rather joyfully in spite of my previous grumpiness.

Some random stranger had miraculously altered my entire morning by surprising me with coffee and a bagel. The Starbucks lady told me it happens all the time. My eldest son insisted that he hears stories about this very occurrence frequently. I guess I must be out of touch. I couldn’t actually remember the last time a stranger even smiled at me.

As we buoyantly pulled away, my son reminded me that in the Jewish religion, anonymous giving was way up there on the mitzvah scale. I wondered if the chain we’d started would go on indefinitely. Maybe the guy I popped for did the same for the gal behind him. Maybe the cycle of giving had been going on long before we ever arrived, and maybe it would continue forever.

I fantasized about that for a few seconds. But then reality came crashing back. No, someone somewhere was going to break the chain. But that’s okay. Because I’ll remember this day, and so will my kids. And we will most definitely be the ones who start the chain next time. It will be we who remind some poor soul in line behind us that today has the potential to be outstanding, if only we choose to make it that way.

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Decaf dilemma

Just say "no" to corporate idiocy!

I drink a lot of coffee. I like coffee. I’ve tried giving it up. But that usually lasts from about 9p.m. to 6:30a.m. the following morning. Then I decide that it’s just not worth the head-ache (literally).

But it gives me a serious buzz. I’m like wired to the max on two shots of espresso. By the time I hit three, I’m shaking so badly I can’t tie my shoes, clasp my necklace or type anything that even remotely resembles meaningful communiqué.

Since I’ve been doing a show, I’ve been working late nights. So a hit or two of java mid afternoon doesn’t do anything to disturb my all too erratic sleeping patterns. But as things are winding down, I decided to cut out the afternoon caffeine infusions and stick to decaf after 3p.m.

Around 4:00 yesterday afternoon I strode into Starbucks and ordered an ordinary cup of decaffeinated coffee.

“Sorry,” said the insincere barrista, “But we don’t brew decaf coffee after 3p.m.”

“What?” I said, sure that I had fallen asleep for a nanosecond and dreamt the previous statement.

“I said,” continued the arrogant employee in a tone that suggested I was either partially deaf or suffering from some advanced form of mental derangement, “We don’t brew decaf after 3. You can order a decaf latte or espresso if you want.”

I quickly did the calculations in my head. A fru fru coffee drink would cost me upwards of three dollars, while a plain cup of joe would’ve run about a buck and a half. But it wasn’t the money that irked me so much. I really didn’t want an expensive, milk-frothed masterpiece. I wanted a simple, ordinary cup of decaf, like my grandmother would’ve enjoyed along with her late afternoon mandelbread snack.

But beyond my personal irritation, this is one of the most inane corporate policies I’ve ever heard. I mean, when do people most drink decaf? I’m guessing it’s not during morning drive time. Why would you refuse to serve decaffeinated coffee in the late afternoon when anyone with even a hint of common sense would be contemplating a good night’s sleep in less than four hours?

This line of reasoning ranks up there with my other caffeine related fave; the “we don’t serve decaffeinated iced tea here.” “Oh, do you have defaffeinated hot tea,” I’ll often inquire. At that I’ll usually get an affirmative response and a listing of five or so flavors of herbal tea that’s available hot.

OK, I’m no rocket scientist, but isn’t that what ice is for? Make the damn tea, then pour it over a glass of ice and voila, herbal iced tea. That doesn’t seem all that difficult to me.

There seems to be a certain inalienable idiocy surrounding decaffeinated drinks in this country, and one that needs to be addressed.

So here’s the bottom line, if you work in a restaurant and want to get good tips, think outside the box. If someone wants a hot drink served over ice, you can handle that. And if you’re a mega-corporate-coffee conglomerate, add a few pots of decaf to your afternoon repertoire. It’ll make people happy and allow them to sleep so that they can race thru your drive thru the next morning at 7a.m. and order those all too addictive venti, half caf, triple mocha, vanilla lattes that keep the establishment in the black.

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Tea-totaler

There comes a time when all of us need to recognize that we are either certifiably insane or completely overwhelmed by life. My moment of recognition came yesterday when I pulled up to the Coffee Bean drive-up window to order a cup of Genmaicha green tea and found the window shut tight. I thought it odd. It was 4:00 in the afternoon. I knew they were open. I saw people entering and exiting as I sat, somewhat impatiently, and waited in my car for some tattooed teen to get back from his or her break and take my order. After several minutes I started to get really annoyed. Aren’t these people running a business? How thoughtless and irresponsible of them to leave a customer sitting outside all alone at the drive-thru window. I suddenly felt that my life depended on getting that cup of tea immediately. Yet forces beyond my control seemed to be conspiring to keep me from achieving my goal.

I honked. Quietly at first. Two short beeps. Just a gentle reminder that customers do drive up to order tea during business hours. Nothing. Then I honked a bit more persistently. They are deliberately ignoring me, I surmised with frustration. I pulled my keys out of the ignition and loudly clinked the metal key ring against the closed window. Still no one came. In total disbelief, I leaned back, took several deep cleansing breaths and gazed into the rear-view mirror to see how many other forlorn consumers would soon be sitting in my disappointed seat. Surprisingly there was no one in line behind me. All I saw in my wake was the giant menu board. You know, the one with the oversized microphone in it, the microphone through which a normal person would actually order their drink before continuing on to the pick-up window.

I was horrified. I had just sped right past the menu board. As if I’d expected some incredibly insightful barrista to simply intuit my presence and serve me the tea I had so neglectfully forgotten to order. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen me. How embarrassing. I wondered if they had a camera inside and were watching me, clutching their sides and gasping from laughter. I knew I should leave quietly and pretend none of it had happened. But I still really wanted that tea.

So I pulled around to the drive up menu board and stopped in front of it this time. A voice immediately welcomed me to the Coffee Bean and asked to take my order. The instantaneous greeting cemented my theory that they had seen me all along and were merely toying with me by not opening the pick-up window. But I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging my foolish gaffe. “I’ll have a large Genmaicha green tea, please,” I announced with aplomb. “Anything else?” he cordially querried. “No, that’ll be all.” I concluded. And with that, I drove on to the window to pay and collect my tea.

I wondered if anyone else had ever done anything as embarrassing as this. Maybe I was making too much of it. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed my silly mistake. Maybe I was just one more slightly stressed mom on the run who had simply forgotten how to drive thru a coffee house cue. I pondered the event as I raced towards school. Then suddenly I was struck with a horrible realization. I had forgotten the tea altogether. I remembered paying, smiling at the attendant, waving goodbye with good cheer. But I had never collected my tea.

OMG, something is seriously wrong with me.

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The dreaded Jacu bird

Waiting for Jacu bird poop

I think my husband has finally lost his mind. I’ve always known that he was a rather eccentric fellow, but this has gone too far. His newest obsession is coffee. He custom orders beans from some place in South America and then roasts them himself in our newly acquired coffee bean roaster (something every home should be purchasing in the midst of economic crisis).

His latest purchase is called “Jacu bird coffee.” It is from South America and has, supposedly, a very earthy, delicious flavor. The reason for its exceptional flavor is that the Jacu bird apparently eats the ripest most flavorful coffee beans and then excretes them after they pass through its intestinal tract. (I am not making this up.) The beans are then collected, cleaned (well, thank the lord for small favors), and distributed to roasters like my sick husband.

His logic may be right and the beans, after prolonged roasting at over 240 degrees, may actually be clean of all damaging bacteria carried in the bird’s excrement. But can you say “GROSS!!!!”

Naturally I have refused to drink the distasteful java. But I’m concerned that he may lure me into partaking of the tainted brew by not telling me the whole truth one morning.

How is a relatively sane wife supposed to cope with a man like this? More importantly, why would he reveal the details of this disgusting concoction if he actually wanted me to drink it? Ah ha, maybe he doesn’t really want to share this new acquisition with me. Maybe he really wants to hoard it all for himself. Maybe this is an even bigger issue than I originally imagined.

It’s a good thing we’re apart for a few weeks this summer. I can contomplate the coffee issue in depth as I relax on the deck of our rented California cottage sipping a safe and delicious cup of my favorite Dunkin’ Donuts dark roast.