American-Sized Coffee — My Guiltiest Pleasure
A short essay on my love-hate relationship with Starbucks
I have a confession; I like Starbucks. But it’s more than a little embarrassing for me to be anywhere — especially abroad — strutting down the street holding a Big-Gulp-sized supercharged caffeine beverage. I try to cover that world-famous logo with my hand and fight the urge to explain to everyone I pass that I am not drinking a triple-shot caramel macchiato with whip cream, it’s just a simple latte.
There’s no need to be embarrassed. It is just coffee. And who the hell cares if I’m drinking some extra sugar whipped peppermint mocha frappuccino hot mess of a beverage. I can drink whatever the hell I want. But I just can’t help but think, “what would my uncles say?”
The answer: “That’s a great-looking amaretto vanilla frappe with extra foam and chocolate sprinkles, tough guy.”
I’m only ordering a coffee with some milk but stepping foot in yet another Starbucks and seeing that green mermaid bitch looking at me brings existential dread.
There’s an inner rural Michigander in me that fights those urges and thinks I should forever simply drink my whiskey straight, my coffee black, and avoid all those fruity umbrella drinks and order a cold beer.
