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A year had passed since my last visit to my adopted home of Northern California. This reunion proved different to the others in as much as the cultural re-entry was softened by its point of origin being Western rather than Eastern. That said I must admit that I did feel somewhat of a stranger in a foreign land. For a start I noticed that the locals had an accent and because of that felt strangely self conscious when I opened my mouth in the public domain to communicate requests for food or beverages. This had not been the case previously when the echo of a fellow countryman’s dolcet tones would turn my head. So there it is; a year away and the most striking difference was how awfully English I sounded.
My visit to Starbucks was fuelled more for reasons of nostalgia rather than any brand loyalty on my part. I'm a Peets man now, their coffee used to be too strong for my taste but now Starbucks is too tame. And so it was that I found myself in a local neighbourhood Starbucks at peak commute time - 8.30 in the am - surrounded by a mixture of soccer Mums and silicon valley geeks.
The pressure was on but what did I want? A tall non fat latte. Nothing exceptional except that my desire to relive the past demanded a slight modification – Hazelnut!
What could be simpler? So here I was in the middle of the Starbucks morning rush hour not wanting to cause a jam, not wanting to open my mouth but wanting a tall non fat hazelnut latte. But there was a problem; some people would say the problem was me but nevertheless there was a problem real or otherwise. If I ordered just that it would have been far too sweet.
No, what I wanted was a ...
No! Not specific enough and far too wordy for the morning commute. What about ...
No, too long again and the crowd would have turned on me before I even got the part about it being imported from Italy. I had to think quickly. Time was running out as I edged closer to the brink. I could see other customers, brows furrowed, their lips moving silently as they rehearsed their order and shuffled towards the inevitable.
How about ...
No, no, no !!! Stupid. Shot would pertain to the caffeine content not to the hazelnut modifier. I felt like a little kid who doesn't know what's wrong with asking for a "plastic red big fire truck" for Christmas. Of course, none of this mattered now. It was all too little too late as I found myself before Tina, the young star buck, beaming at me through her braces. I decided at this point clarity was of paramount importance.
Her fingers moved deftly over the touch screen pad as she opened her mouth to call in the order to her comrades working furiously at the alter of caffeine.
The rhythm was broken. She stopped; the engineers at the coal face paused to hear what I had to say. A hush fell over the store. I cleared my throat.
She held my gaze, impatiently thudded backspace a few times on the touch screen and casually shouted
The relief was tangible. I tried to make ammends and quipped "Does anyone ever specify a half pump?" Of course the answer was in the affirmative. I paid and waited patiently at the delivery end of the business with the other customers; like addicts pacing outside the methadone clinic. When I did eventually receive my drink a preparatory sip proved my worse fears. Should've had the half pump!
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