Personal Coffee

"Anything from the specialty bar, sir?"

I looked around. I was pretty sure I was in a Starbucks, looking for coffee. The "specialty bar"? Maybe I was wrong. But no, the ubiquitous green and white stripes...the glass case full of carefully over-priced confections, the annoying choice of talle, grande and venti...it was all there.

So what in the name of God is a "specialty bar", and why would I want anything from there?

"No, thanks," I said.

"No PROBLEM- EXCELLENT!!" replied the barista, as she fixed her eyes on the next customer "The usual?", she perked.

The woman in the sensible power suit behind me stepped up to the plate, drew a deep breath, and took a mighty swing. "Not today, thanks. Today I want....okay, I'll have a grande...no a venti...a venti half-caff...Himilayan...soy...extra hot...no whip, no lid."

There was a slight pause. Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on the customer's upper lip. Had she hit it over the fence, or was this a swing and a miss?

"EXCELLENT!!" smiled the barista, as she leaped into action. "I need a personal venti half-caff Himalayan soy extra hot no whip no lid!!" she shouted to the person standing approximately right next to her. The instructions were repeated back with the precision of a submarine fire control officer preparing to launch a volley of Polaris missiles. Large, highly pressurised pieces of coffee-making machinery were pressed into service. Hisses issued forth. Gauges fluttered, buttons were pushed.

Power Suit Lady relaxed, smiled. She headed for the Special Section reserved for those who order "Personal Beverages".

Meanwhile I ordered a large coffee, dark roast. No special section for me. Naturally I had to have the mandatory "I'm sorry sir - I don't understand "LARGE" " conversation, which resulted in me (as always) pointing dumbly to the middle-sized cup on the Starbuck's cup decoder display. Then I forked over my $2.05, dumped in a load of half-and-half, twiddled it all with a wooden stir stick, and found the correct cup lid.

With a firm grasp on my coffee cup I headed for the door, stepping carefully around the area inside the velvet rope where Personal Coffees are prepared, checked, and ceremoniously delivered. Power Suit Lady was pacing nervously. "Would they get the "hot" right? Was the "no whip" a mistake? Could she get retroactive "whip"? How would her personally designed coffee beverage go down with the baristae? Had she checked her bank balance? Is "Himalayan a no-no...or was that Tibetan...or Ethiopian? DAMN! She forgot to say "fair trade!" DAMN, damn, damn....

As I reached the exit, the personal coffee exchanged hands, its arrival signalled by a loud "I have a personal venti half-caff Himalayan extra hot no whip no lid here..."

I looked back. Power Suit Lady had pulled it off. Her beverage - her personal beverage - had been prepared to order, following her instructions. She glowed. She looked ready to strut. And then....it came apart.

"Will there be anything from the personal accompaniments bar, perhaps?"

Power Suit Lady was stuck. She hadn't prepared. Hadn't scrutinized the offerings. Hadn't done ANY sort of beverage/accompaniment matching. She took a shot.

"A no-wheat no-egg yolk thigh pressed steel-cut oatmeal kamut hotcake?"

A hand snaked across the counter, snatching back the personal beverage and disdainfully flinging $7.38 in loose change in one practiced motion.

"Perhaps madam would be more comfortable at Second Cup? I hear they offer free coffee at the "Y" - just down the street...it comes with a cookie."