The Hardest Part

(It’s the waiting, for all you non-Tom Petty fans.)

Ever walk into a Starbucks, and the line is short, and you think to yourself, “Yes! I’ll get my coffee before the end of the decade,” and then the guy in front of you whips out a scroll as long as your arm, like he’s about to recite from the Torah for his bar mitzvah, and starts placing an order for all fifty three people in his office?

I’m that guy. Hi. Nice to meet you.

I see the way you roll your eyes theatrically. I hear your long, deep sigh of exasperation. I feel the hatred emanating from your prefrontal cortex, boring it’s way through the back of my skull.

But really, why are you mad? I’m not actually slowing you down. It’s just that your perception of how long it was going to take was wrong.

How would you feel if you’d walked in and there were seventeen people in line, each with their own order? My way is faster, ultimately. First, it’s one transaction, which saves a lot of button punching time. Secondly, if there’s two cashiers, one cashier can serve me and my seventeen orders while the other proceeds as normal.

Look, this wasn’t my idea. You think I want to carry six trays of frappuccinos, cappuccinos, espressos, mochas, non-fat lattes, soy lattes, non-fat soy lattes, and every once in a while, a cup of actual coffee? I’m just trying to earn a living, here. (And, by the way, I guarantee said living is not as nice as yours, as evidenced by the fact that you have sufficient discretionary funds to drink at Starbucks even when the boss isn’t paying.)

Just listen to your NPR podcast, and quit silently cursing the day I was born, okay?