In celebration of the gorgeous autumn day in my neighbourhood yesterday, I decided to take my book and tea craving outdoors. I counted out some change from my money plate (where pockets get emptied) and walked down to my new favourite thinking ground, the Wild Oat organic café. Alas, other yuppies shared my idea and each sitting spot was full. So, I walked down to Timothy’s Coffee, but was told by the counter attendant that the “tea machine was broken.” I tried to figure out how the store’s capacity to boil water could be broken, as its requisite ingredients are heat source, a container and water. Alas, I walked further down the street to Starbucks.

I stood in line and angled my head forwards as I squinted my eyes to decipher the markings on the menu. I must have looked like I was staring the prices down, hoping they’d reduce, as I subsequently looked down to the change in my hand and counted out what it could purchase from the tea menu. I flicked out the piece of pocket lint that came with a quarter. There were two girls in front of me with the frizzy hair denoting the hormonal changes of a teenage girl. They giggled and asked the barista questions about different drinks, oblivious to the line of eager caffeine-addicted patrons behind them. “Do you guys get a lot of orders for orange mocha frappucinos?” one giggled, referring to the line from Zoolander. I joined in the collective heaving and hawing of the twenty and thirtysomething crowd. It was as if we all leaned on one foot with a hand on the hip in a uniform motion sighing, “Honey, just order your drink with your daddy’s money and move on so that we, who have learned the value of work and have earned the right to flaunt Starbucks sophistication may indulge.” Or so I reflect today. Anyway, the girls got their super-sugared drinks, and sprinkled chocolate shavings on top before going off giggling. I ordered my passion Tazo tea, picked up a free copy of the Times (one of my absolute favourite Sunday indulgences) and set up my reading/sipping station on the outside patio.

I can remember being those girls, on a virgin trip to Starbucks, that far-away land of grey-suited adults awakening their sense of excitement with a hit of caffeine. Back then, I expressed myself via catchy T-Shirt slogans, believed in every reason to damn the man, and didn’t give a thought to how outrageous it was to pay six dollars for a coffee.