Death in a cup

I hate coffee. Yes, I realize that makes me distinctly un-American in a lot of ways, but it's true.

Lately I've upped my Starbucks visits for my No Fun Hot Chocolates in an effort to ease the pain in my chest - once I suck one of those things down, I feel sooo much better it's hard to describe. Now that I've finished all of the steroids, I find that I'm really needing to drink a lot more hot liquids and frankly there's only so much soup or hot tea that I can stand.

This afternoon we were on our way back from the Eternal Search for Size 5 Levi's that Never Ends and I popped into Starbucks to get my usual. Really, most of the baristas there know me so I don't have to go through the whole rigamarole of how to make one of these silly drinks. But when I walked in, SHE was there.

She is probably the worst employee in Starbucks' history. Seriously.

They started her out on the cash register about three months ago. You could place an order for a venti coffee and she would look at you like you had just dropped off of Mars and weren't speaking her language at all. One morning I had to repeat my order FOUR times to her, and finally the barista was so annoyed she started taking the drink orders herself and telling the girl what to ring up.

Well, now she's graduated to Incompetent Barista. Even though she wrote the drink down exactly on the side of the cup, when I got home and it was cool enough not to burn my tongue I discovered with some horror that she'd given me some kind of coffee-based drink that seriously tasted like Death in a Cup. Venti-sized. So horrid that neither Joey or I could drink it. So it went down the drain. I almost took it back, but driving 4 miles there and back was maybe a little too obsessive, even for me.

So I got out the milk, and made my own little version. Steamed milk, some Nestle Quik, a dash of vanilla, and I even sprinkled some cinnamon on top. And you know, it was really really good.

I miss my steamed milk with the foam on top, though. And my little paper cup with the little cardboard thingy around it so I don't burn my delicate little fingertips. I have such simple needs, and now I feel like someone crapped in my cornflakes. I don't ask for much, just please - give me my stupid hot chocolate so I can breathe.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go polish my tiara.