This morning at Starbucks, I had the great fortune of being in line behind a lovely specimen of the local breed of housewife:
Memorial BarbieThis yuppie Barbie comes with your choice of Rolls Royce convertible or Hummer H2. Included are her own Starbucks cup, credit card and country club membership. Also available for this set are Shallow Ken and Private School Skipper. You won’t be able to afford any of them.
However, today she actually had Private School Skipper and Private School Ken Jr. with her. Skipper and Ken Jr. were about three and four years old. They were your typical tow-headed, Gap Kids-outfitted, squrimy younglings — nothing particularly good or bad about them, except that they were insistently tugging the bottom of Barbie’s yoga pants and whining about coffee. So, really, nothing that special. I figured they were whining because they either wanted a sip of their mother’s coffee (I used to try and sneak sips of my mom’s coffee when I was little…why, I don’t know) or they were bored and wanted to move on to the next destination.
Then, Barbie blew my mind.
She approached the counter and in her high-pitched, giggly little girl voice, she ordered a venti-something-extremely-convoluted for herself and two tall milks, steamed, with a shot of espresso and caramel in each one. For her three-year-old and four-year-old. Espresso. With sugary caramel, just for good measure, cause she’s a good mom like that.
The barista behind the counter stared at Barbie, wax pencil hovering blankly over a tall paper cup. The woman giggled again and said, “I know it’s a little out of the ordinary, but y’all have made it for me before.” Still no movement from the barista. Barbie continued, “You know, I just can’t get through a morning when we don’t all have our coffee, right? This morning they were just screaming for it! They’ve got to have their coffee!” Her face was a bright, blank grin. She clearly felt that she was doing the right thing here, indulging her precious children and their every whim, never mind the fact that she was stunting their growth, teaching them that whining gets you whatever you want and getting their tiny bodies hooked on copius amounts of caffeine and sugar before they could even pronounce the word “addiction.” Finally, after a few awkward seconds, the barista processed Barbie’s order and rang her up in utter silence, glaring at her the entire time.
I like to think that she’s been hitting up the 2,300 or so Starbucks we have in a roughly five-mile radius, pulling this crap every morning at a different one and then moving on to another one the next day. She’s probably thinking to herself, Wow, the service is so slow and rude at this Starbucks; I think I’ll try another one tomorrow. It must be nice to be so clueless.