Dear Douchebag at Starbucks:
I saw you saunter in, age indeterminable, clothing perfectly pressed. You are a walking cliché of a man, all smile but no warmth. Your friend smiles, too, but it reaches his eyes. You walk by, certain you’re the only other person in the world. I pretend to read.
“Excuse me,” you spat at the barista. Your tone is sharp, making it clear that her speed is unacceptable. Never mind that it’s only been three seconds since you walked in. Forget that she’s currently closing the cash drawer. None of that matters, because YOU need coffee, yesterday.
You don’t wait for her to answer you. As soon as she looks, you spring. “I want a [epically long order that I cannot recall, but it was ridiculous. Let’s just say it was this] very hot half-caf, no-whip, soy milk latte with three pumps of non-dairy creamer, drizzled with caramel.”
She repeats your order, and I watch you glare at her as if she’s just insulted your mother. You offer her a curt nod, sneering. When you speak next, your voice could cut through steel with a whisper. “Emphasis on the VERY HOT.”
It is then that I want to smack you, despite the fact that you’re a) a billion feet tall and b) my elder. You, sir, are an asshole. It’s not bad enough that you order coffee as if it were an important medical procedure. It’s not bad enough that you talk to the barista like a complete sack of dull tools. No, you also have to enunciate, loudly, at a decibel that is reserved for jackasses and Gordon Gecko.
Dude, your coffee is not that important. I say that as someone who NEEDS coffee like air. I say that as a human being who remembers to be nice to people, all people, regardless of their job or position in life. You didn’t even notice her cringe, did you? You didn’t notice that she flinched, because you were looking at her as if she were dirt? That girl did absolutely nothing to you. And you were an ass to her.
While waiting for your order you chatted with your friend, who looked only vaguely embarrassed at your shit-tastic attitude. When it was done, you did not say thank you. You did not even smile. You snatched it from the counter, snarking about something. On your way out, again, you glanced at nothing and no one. I resisted the urge to trip you, sir, but I could have. I turned the other cheek. I only hope that the barista spit in your coffee.
The girl in the corner