Get the fuck outta my way. Mama needs her iced macchiato.
If you don't know what an artesan coffee is called, you're simply not worthy.
all I wanted was an iced coffee-an iced skinny caramel macchiato. all the black guy in front of me wanted was a venti house blend with a shot of espresso and soy. But he didn't know how to say it.
"Gimme one of dem regular coffees with dat bitter stuff in it with all the energy. And the milk that comes from the beans.
...what? Oh. house blend. Espresso. Soy.
Now, I'm not a coffee snob but I AM a self-proclaimed iced latte addict. Iced skinny caramel lattes and iced macchiatos are my poison. And like I've posted before, how much Starbucks I've consumed in a day influences my sex life. So, my husband puts up with and fully supports the $15 I spend a day on my drinks. Yeah, they could be made for half the price, but they wouldn't be as good. I know, I've tried.
So I'm standing there in line trying not to sigh impatiently-and failing miserably.
I'm also trying to figure out why the barista couldn't figure out wtf he wanted. I mean, I could figure it out-wtf do they pay her for, anyway?
She gives him something similar to what he's asking for. He didn't know the difference but whatever. Not my problem.
I order my drink.
She gave me a caramel latte with two shots of espresso. WTF IS THIS SHIT. Why can't people do their jobs. Ugh.
And my husband DID NOT get laid that night.