(1969-TBA AD), fake moniker I give at Starbucks when they ask to write my name on the cup.
I loathe this new policy.
I understand, in principle, why Starbucks has implemented this practice but it still bugs the shit out of me. When it comes to figuring out which drink belongs to which customer it probably saves time. If Tom, Dick and Harry all order similar, yet unnecessarily complicated drinks – Venti Non Fat No Foam No Water 6 Pump Extra Hot Chai Tea Latte – with slight variations it’s probably easier to just yell out “DICK…” when it’s ready.
I suspect, however, that their motives are somewhat more sinister.
In a corporate climate where companies are competing aggressively for customers, any advantage (or supposed advantage) is essential. This is their way of “getting to know us.” It’s their way of making friends. The assumption is that we’re more likely to return to a place that “knows us.”
Truth is, it’s a callous attempt at forced intimacy and a hollow try at making us feel “all warm and fuzzy inside.”
It makes me want to slap the barista across the chops and scream “just get me my Triple Venti Sugar Free Non Fat No Foam Extra Caramel With Whip Caramel Macchiato!”
I’ve taken to using names like Maximillian, Bartholomew and on occasion, Linda.
I have answered “Tom” and then complained that they didn’t spell it “Thom.”
I especially enjoy going for coffee with my sister, Scheherazade.
I wonder how Chiwetel Ejiofor orders his drink?
Lets put an end to this contrived camaraderie and go back to the good old days when purchasing a coffee was a nameless, hateful transaction between two people who could care less whether the other lives or dies…
Until I get my jolt of caffeine, then we can be friends.