The Morning After

I wake with the worst hangover of my life, and discover I’m wearing a Starbucks uniform.

I don’t remember much about last night, an evening, a bar, a group of friendly strangers, rounds of Jager shots and, past that, nothing at all until this moment…

I find the note by my bed and know what it will say even before I open it.

“Your shift begins at three.” It reads, along with an address.

“Well,” I think to myself, resigned to my fate and rising to prepare myself for my new job, “it would appear I have been French-Press ganged.”

The Dangers of Pumpkin Spice

I left my phone on the table at my local Starbucks.

And by the time I got back, having realized it missing, ten minutes later, it was gone.

I checked that night, and again the next day, but nobody’d turned it in, so I had it bricked and bought a new one.

They rolled the price over onto my next bill rather than making me pay in the store, which was nice of them, I suppose.

I mean, they didn’t have to do that, it’s not as though I could get by in 2014 without a phone.

But still, this means my next phone bill will be in excess of four hundred dollars, which I can’t really afford. Especially with Christmas season coming.

Four hundred dollars for a seconds-long lapse in judgment at a Starbucks.

Overall, it was the most expensive pumpkin spiced latte I’ve ever had.

Still kind of worth it, though.

I do loves me some pumpkin spice…

Starbucks

They’ve opened a Starbucks in my bedroom.

I’m not positive I gave Starbucks permission to open a store in my home, but they claim I did, and I make bad decisions when I drink, so who knows?

Now it’s here, where my closet was. Logo near my ceiling, countertop coffee makers, eerily perky coffee girl, always staring at me in a friendly but somewhat blank manner.

Lite jazz wakes me each day.

Frankly, I don’t see how it stays in business. I don‘t even like coffee.

But that’s not my problem. It’s not MY Starbucks, it’s just in my bedroom.