You gotta love Starbucks….
“There is a fine line between love and hate.” — Cecelia Ahern, c. 2002-2005.
I used to really dislike Starbucks. Upon recent reflection …
Salvador Dali, unmistakable mustache on full display, walks into a Starbucks.
Eureka moment for the barista nearest to the door. She whispers into the ear of her co-caffeine mixer nearest to her: “You know who that is? Very, very famous!” They grab the third member of the crew and engage Dali.
“You are that famous guy, the guy with the Lama, right?” barista extraordinaire exclaims.
Clearly a typical asshole moment for the always locked-and-loaded Dali. He introduces himself:
“I am Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, 1st Marquess of Dalí de Púbol gcYC.”
And orders his favorite Starbucks: Ristretto, venti, with breve, 5 pump vanilla, 7 pump caramel, 4 Splenda, extra hot, split quad shots (1 1/2 shots decaf, 2 1/2 shots regular), no foam latte, with whip, 2 packets of Splenda, 1 sugar in the raw, and 3 short sprinkles of cinnamon, poured, not shaken.
Which the self-satisfied, woke-Ivy educated, clear-skin-challenged-Coffee Master (Starbucksian for “person making coffee drinks at Starbucks”) apathetically proceeds to blend.
Dali shows his gratitude to the no longer interested barista by autographing her forehead.
And left no tip.
