A Polite Decimation

A few months back, I was on a trip to Lowe’s to procure some waterproof wire connectors. To be clear, I already had waterproof wire connectors, but I needed a larger size because I was tying in some additional backyard speakers in parallel. I asked my wife if she needed anything while I was out. It was 8:00PM and, naturally, she requested Starbucks.

The thought of a night mud was enticing enough for me to acquiesce—it’s not like you really need to sleep every night anyways. However, instead of whatever shook espresso variant was currently available, she instructed me to order something that shook me to my core: Lemonade, Coconut Milk and Vanilla Bean Powder.

It’s not even an overly sugarsyrup concoction that values aesthetics over value or taste. It’s just baffling.

I despise ordering weird, off-menu shit. I feel like it’s wholly unnecessary to jar a worker’s muscle memory from its shift rhythms. But, I am a good husband, so I threw blue collar respect to the wind and said, “Sure, honey.”

Trying to avoid any anticipated confusion or requests to leave the drive thru line immediately, I attempt to order ahead. However, this particular request is so turbo pervert that I cannot recreate it in the app. You can’t choose Juice genre (lemonade) and add in anything from the Milk genre. Channeling my inner Nate Bergatze I attempt to do the inverse, but Howard Schultz must have put this restriction at some point during his reign. You can’t choose a Milk genre and add in anything from the Juice genre. In fact, I couldn’t find any way to even add Vanilla Bean Powder to anything. Legitimately, this is the most embarrassing drink imaginable, and I would be forced to explain to another human being that I need this. I should have told my wife “They can’t do that.” But, I am a good husband, so I forged ahead to order it in person.

Though ire and brusqueness courses through my veins, I’m overly genial towards strangers in public—especially service and retail workers.

I do this for two reasons: 1) My father showed me early on in life that you should befriend the cafeteria worker before your manager because you may get a free slice of pie, where as your manager will only ever give you more responsibility. 2) I’ve been there.

My  fondest memories of my time in these spaces was when I was a busboy at a Japanese steakhouse and a patron thought throwing ice on the hot teppanyaki grill would entertain his party. Instead, he accidentally knocked his glass onto it, which caused it to shatter because it is *extremely Juvenile voice, but I slip into Lil Wayne at the end* 400º. As I wipe broken glass off the soon-to-be-used cooking area I burn the shit out of my hand because the grill is fully pre-heated and my towel soaked up the water from grill and transformed into a burn cloth. The patron who knocked his glass onto the grill, smugly said, “Watch out. It’s hot!” I replied, “Fuck off.”

While working at Best Buy, this one affluent-passing couple started at the 55” TVs asking me all kinds of questions for 60 minutes only to then spend 15 minutes looking at the 32” open-box TVs. They called me over and the guy asked about the discount. I let him know that it was a return and that is why we took 15% off of it. He then asked, “What can you do about the price for me?”

“I can point at it.”

“You aren’t a manager, are you?”

“No, but if you want me to get him so he can point at it, I’d be glad to.”

I got my manager, and he pointed at it, as well.

The drive-thru line is empty, and I begin the spiel.

“Hey. So my wife has sent me here to order a drink that I don’t believe you can even legally make. I’m going to say what is in it and you tell me if you have any experience making it or if I should just drive away into oncoming traffic: Lemonade, Coconut Milk and Vanilla Bean Powder.”

“Actually, that sounds familiar. I think we’ve sold one or two of those this week; might be like a Tik Tok drink?"

“Ok, great. I would like the powdered lemonmilk, please.”

“What size?”

“Biggest, I guess? If you’re having to make this we might as well go for gold.”

The pressure is off. The lady was not confident of how to make it but there was at least some familiarity with it that put me at ease. I pull up to the window, and she wants to pass the time chatting as her coworkers confirm the ratio of Milk genre to Juice genre.

I’m not entirely sure how it happened but in the course of five back-and-forths she asks, “Do you have any kids?”

“Yes. Two.”

“Do you have any pictures?”

While I am not in the habit of showing strangers pictures of my children, I felt I could show my savior one (1) picture of my children.

“I have a dog.”

“Cool. Also, am I gonna get put on some kind of watch list? Like does the app know a 34-year-old guy just bought a tiktok drink?”

“Oh, you’re 34? Aww.”

Aww.

Aww.

Aww.

Aww.

I think minimum wage should be $2.