I have a morning routine. Like every other working woman in America, I talk myself through the steps: “my teeth are brushed, even flossed. I’ve shaved my legs, my hair is washed. My eyes are in so I can see, I’ve moisturized, deordorized . . . I have to pee. Now what to wear . . . no. no. certainly not that. Oh, god, I didn’t know I looked so fat.”
The voice never stops. She NEVER shuts up. She tells me I’m late. She comments on my driving skills.
So, every morning, pressed, dressed, and properly coiffed, I go to Starbucks. The drive thru preferably. (I just spent an hour and a half getting ready for work. I am not in the mood to be rained on or have the wind undo my hard work.) From the moment, I hear “Good morning. Welcome to Starbucks. What can I get for you?” the voice in my head gets quiet.
“A venti misto with blond roast and a venti strawberry refresher, please,” I answer today.
Yes, they are both for me. I feel fat, remember? Clearly the only reasonable action is to ingest more calories.
At the pick-up window, my beverages are not quite ready. I have to wait. So the young barista leans his head out the window. Oh, please, no. He is practically leaning inside my car to make conversation. It’s 6:00 AM. As in MORNING.
“How’s your day going so far?” he asks.
I narrow my eyes to give him my very best evil look.
Who trains these people? It is 6:00 AM! My day is just starting. And, why do they think they should make conversation with a total stranger at 6:00 AM anyway?
My happy, quiet moment is no longer so happy.
He does not notice my look. He leans a little further into my car. “So, I’m curious,” he continues, “are you the strawberry or the blond?” Grinning.
No. No, no, no. The voice in my head is back telling me I should be polite to this horrid young man. NO, I think.
Suddenly, something snaps inside me. I can still see the look on his face as I press the button, rolling up my car window without a word. He seems uncomfortable looking at me through the closed window as I wait for my beverages in silence.
Boo dude. No stars for you.
You make me laugh! So true, yet we, as women, are taught to be nicey-nice. Even when we shouldn’t be or don’t want to be. Good for you rolling up your window because I know you didn’t do it rudely (knowing you).
LOL! Thanks Sandy.