Buying Stimulants By the Ounce

For a non-coffee-drinker, there is probably nothing more frightening than being in the position of buying coffee. It’s a position we put ourselves in more often than you would think. Crazy, I know. Any of us will tell you, it's probably the feeling you got when you bought your first little baggie of crack, if you can remember back that far. Can you? Remember that feeling? Work with me here.

As soon as we walk into one of these hollow excuses for businesses, we essentially become that doomed scuba diver wafting alone in the water. There are three Great White Sharks circling underneath, and this is all viewed from the dramatic perspective of the ocean floor. And yes, we are in full scuba gear—yes, even the tight spandex suit that awkwardly exposes the profile of our genitals. So, basically, we're fucked:

8:34 AM, Caribou Coffee, Meyran Street, Oakland

Willem: Medium Macchiato. I have no idea what this means.
Cashier: Medium Macchiato. Indistinct mumbling, ending in an upward intonation. Did she ask, “Anything else?” Stop staring, idiot. Answer.
Willem: Nope.
Cashier stares blankly, then bursts into laughter. I think this is as good a spot as any to mention that the cashier is in her mid-30s and sporting pigtails.
Willem: I’m sorry? What?
Cashier: I asked you if that was all. And you were like, “No.” So…
Willem: Oh! Ha! No. That’s it.

So, I pay Pigtails the absolutely disgusting $2.55. Seconds later, another employee kindly informs me that I’m holding up about six peoples’ orders. Apparently, I am to receive the thing at a special coffee-receiving counter at the other end of the room. I shit you not. It’s like a McDonald’s Drive-Thru, except it’s fucking retarded.

The cup is about five and a half inches tall and filled only halfway (about half of which is foam). I consider going back and asking what the deal is, but I fear I’ll elicit a response along the lines of, “What? Hey Sasha! Get a load of this guy! He thinks we should fill his cup to the top! Lemme guess? No ice with your in-flight drink? And oh yeah! Nice spandex!”

So, I head out into the Pittsburgh cold without saying a thing, take a swig, and the shit is absolutely rancid. Granted, I could have milk n' sugared the thing, but the milk dispenser resembled this, and the sugar dispenser resembled this. Even the little honey bottle looked a little like this.

In an effort to get my money’s worth, I soon find myself taking “shots” to avoid prolonged exposure to my taste buds. I walk into class, and my Communications T.A. greets me: “Caribou. Well played.”

Fucking psychos. Every one of you.

Caribou Coffee, Pretentious L.L. Bean Shithole. Yes, it actually looks like this.