Tuesday, 13 July 2010

Starbucks: The Sequel

It's official ladies and gentlemen: I'm a Starbucks VIP.

How do I know this?

I was queue-jumped. Twice.

Hell. Yeah.

That's right people - envisage a hefty line of tourists, snaking their way along the register (always in the wrong direction - why, oh why, can't they obey the simple rules of our country?) and little old me is right at the back, with the important mission of garnering the boss' caffeine fix.

But not for long - oh no, I am far too special to waste my time in a petty queue. My friendly barrister spots me, and with a gentle wave of his arm, reminiscent of the soft swaying of corn in summer's breeze (Or something. Hey, I'm a city girl, I tried my best) beckons me over to the front of the queue, assuring me that I have neither the time nor the patience to wait in line with mere mortals.

He's wrong - I have ample amounts of both - but do you think I'm going to stop him?.

I may not have a job, but at least, in Starbucks, I'm a Somebody.

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