False Alarm


Be nice to the barista, or this could happen to you

It was10:40 p.m., just twenty minutes before closing time at Starbucks Coffee.

Sitting alone at a small round table near the entrance was an Asian woman with long dark hair, fastened into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. 90% of her concentration was on drawing chemical bonds on a paper-sized  dry-erase board that was surrounded by a chemistry book and loose notebook paper. The other 10% of her concentration was in the cutting glances she made  to the noisy group of six friends who sat off in the corner discussing their past run-ins with the law.

A young man with a platinum blonde faux-hawk swung open the door and walked with heavy footsteps. He was wearing a black V-neck shirt with a gray unbuttoned vest over it and was styled somewhere between a teenage rebel and a metrosexual. The group of friends and the studious girl took notice of him but went back to their own tasks almost immediately. The chain dangling from the blonde man’s pocket jingled until he reached the register. He casually ordered his drink and then leaned against a nearby wall until an employee donning a bright green cap shouted, “Tall Strawberry Vivanno Shake up at the bar!”

The blonde man slinked forward  picked up the pink drink, eyed it up and down, set it back on the counter and explained, “This isn’t what I ordered.”

It was strange that a man of his façade order a fruity pink shake, but the situation likened to that of people’s voices. You just never know until you know.

The man behind the bar placed the latte  he had been frothing down, turned, faced the blonde man, and with his brow furrowed replied, “Well you’re just gonna to have to drink what I gave you.”

The employee, now thoroughly annoyed,  spun swiftly back around on his heel and added the finishing touches to the latte .

“I didn’t want this! I want what I ordered!” said the blonde man angrily, his eyes fixed on the back of the  barista’s head.

Whipping back to face the blonde hair,  there was a shout, “How ’bout you just drink it?”

The caffeine powerhouse that was previously abuzz turned silent and all eyes, even the young future chemist who was busy drawing chemical bonds, were on the escalating situation at the bar. The blonde man lifted the pink drink up with his right hand and raised it to eye level.

“How ’bout I throw it  in your face?”

Grimaces morphed into smiles as the men simultaneously broke into laughter. The v-neck-wearing  man, still chuckling said, “How’s it going man? How ya been?”

(Guess who was behind the blonde, faux-hawk man in line to recount this true story?)


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