An open letter to the guy ahead of me at Starbucks adding sugar to his latte
Top of the morning to you, sir!
I see you’ve just gotten a delicious, piping hot Venti™ latte. You’re probably excited about just how much your morning is about to improve: a magical elixir of gourmet Italian espresso and expertly frothed 2% milk will do that! Armed with a hand-crafted beverage and caffeine flowing through your veins, you’re ready to take on whatever this day throws at you.
Ah, but then I see this sensory experience isn’t quite ready. You have a routine, I’m guessing? Every morning, you make the trip from the barista’s counter to the milk station, iPhone 6S Plus balanced on your shoulder. The lid comes off, but you don’t miss a beat on your phone call. Then, you glance through your Ray-Bans at the bounty before you: natural sugars, both refined and “in the raw”; artificial sweeteners; stirrers made of organic, reclaimed wood; a selection of milk and non-milk creamers that could leave even a dairy farmer in a tizzy.
You’re talking Q3 sales on the phone, but in your mind, the conversation is very different: let’s customize this drink, you’re thinking. The milk counter isn’t a milk counter, it’s your oyster! How does the latte taste after one sugar packet? No need to raise the lidless cup to your lips; a stirrer, dipped slowly into the thick foam, will do the job. But not before a luxurious stir — this is a stirrer, after all! — that will leave no coffee molecule untouched.
Take your time, you think to yourself, as the stirrer orbits the interior of the cup at a snail’s pace. Excellence comes only through a steady hand and a sense of purpose. “Yeah, uh-huh,” you mumble into the phone, even though the barrage of facts and figures on this call are turning into background noise. As any artisan would, you’ve focused singularly on elevating this mass-produced, Americanized coffee drink to greatness.
A minute later, you can guess with reasonable certainty that the sugar has reached the darkest, furthest reaches of the seemingly endless cup. The foam-drenched stirrer reaches your lips. Not sweet enough, you think. But you knew this: you’ve been here before. You’ve been here hundreds of times before, in fact, a cog in the heavy wheel of capitalism that needs to be greased with Starbucks every morning.
Still, there’s no harm in checking. Sugar can change sweetness at any time.
You repeat this process a half-dozen more times, finally settling on a syrupy concoction that more closely resembles a milkshake than a latte, which means the fun can finally begin.
You turn to an assortment of little shakers astride the milk canisters. Ooh! Wouldn’t a careful dash of cinnamon turn this workaday drink into a Tuscan vacation inside your mouth? Maybe — but the only way to find out is to try. Dash, stir, sip; dash, stir, sip. This, too, you know well. The cinnamon is a special treat that you have trained your brain to rediscover each and every day, a break from the crushing monotony of your routine.
The call drones on. So too does your authentic Italian café experience. You move from the cinnamon to the milk: yes, lattes are milk-based drinks already, but why else would the milk be here but for you to use it? Turning each canister in search of a label, you sigh: there’s no almond milk. Muting your call, you turn around, stand on your tiptoes to see beyond the hulking, copper-plated espresso machines, and signal to the barista that you need… what was it again? Soy milk? No, the soy milk is right here. “Never mind. Yes, Mark, I’m still here,” you say, slightly embarrassed and angered that you had to engage the barista long enough to be noticed on this teleconference.
You take one last, long, sweeping scan of the milk station. Is there anything else you might need to make this drink… well, drinkable? For good measure, should you take a napkin? You pull one out of the dispenser, quickly think better of it, and toss it in the trash, which is conveniently built right into the station. They think of everything at Starbucks, don’t they?
Do you need a straw? No; straws are bad for hot drinks, you remember, and they can be difficult to shove through the sippy hole in the lid. Oh! Speaking of lids, you should grab one of these little green stoppers so your drink doesn’t go splashing everywhere. After reassembling your lid (with some trouble), you stuff the stopper in.
But there’s a problem. When the stopper is in the lid, the drink is difficult to drink. Actually, it’s impossible: that’s the entire function of the stopper, after all! After a moment of introspection into this paradox, you discard the stopper, a smile spreading across your face as you realize that your latte is once again drinkable.
Behind you, the line of people wishing to spend just five seconds tossing a small splash of milk into their coffees has just crossed the one mile mark. News helicopters overhead are documenting the incredible scene, men and women with white cups in hand, snaking through the tight alleys of Lower Manhattan. Some give up; some have perished, having failed to get enough life-giving caffeine into their system. For others, they’ve been in the line so long that their workday has passed them by; modern conveniences like cellphones and tablets have allowed them to participate in just enough meetings to feel useful.
As you step away from the station, a bleary-eyed employee flips the “open” sign on the front door. The golden sun dips beneath the Hudson.
A sip. A second sip. This is perfect, you think. For just the briefest instant, you experience complete satisfaction.
But where are you going? It’s now 5AM tomorrow, and as luck would have it, you’re first in line.