I think it’s pretty clear that my family and myself tend to run on the anti-social side. People annoy us. We don’t really like socializing. We just don’t really like people. This personality trait shined bright and clear a few weeks ago, while on a visit to Starbucks.
A few weeks back, I wrangled my parents into helping set up my classroom. We would spend five hours cleaning, boxing, hanging, and drilling. Before setting out on our own version of “Extreme Makeover: Classroom Edition,” we stopped at our local Starbucks. This is a necessity whenever we all set out for an adventure. I mean…my dad doesn’t even ask anymore…he just drives straight to Starbucks.
When we walked in, it was clear we would be in for a bit of a wait. There were ten people in front of us. I immediately noticed they were doing the “name game thing.” You know what I’m talking about. When they say, “Can I get a name for the cup?” I HATE THIS!
Why, you are asking yourself? One, they never spell my name right and I don’t want to appear crazy and high maintenance by saying, “It’s Dayna. Dayna with a Y.” Two, I just don’t like giving out my name and then it’s on the cup and then people see it and then I just think, “Ugh. What if some weirdo starts talking to me and then knows my name…”
Anyway. My mom also hates the name thing. She typically says, “Oh. Yeah. I don’t do that.” That day, however, she was in rare spirits. I tried to avoid the whole situation by having my dad order, but he failed me. He didn’t move to the front of the line when our time came. I think he was distracted by the case of blueberry muffins. And so, this is what happened that fateful day in Starbucks. The Starbucks I have to go to on a regular basis, because it’s the only one on my way to work…
Me: Grande, non-fat, chai.
Baristo: Can I get your name for the cup?
Me: Dayna. Dayna with a Y. I know that sounds so high maintenance.
Baristo: That’s okay. No problem.
Mom: Venti, non-fat, six pump, chai, ½ pump peppermint, and no foam.
Baristo: Got it. Can I get your name for the cup?
Mom: Tamika.
Me: STOP IT!
Dad: Babe! You can’t do that. Stop it.
Mom: What? He just said a name for the cup.
Baristo: I like it. If she wants to be Tamika today, she can be Tamika.
Mom: See? You should have said Sophia Grace.
Me: This is the worst.
Yes. He did in fact write Tamika on the cup.
Obviously my mom was in good form that day. We left there with our chais in hand and set off for my new place of work. What I wasn’t expecting was that other teachers would be there. So yes, my parents ended up meeting quite a few of my co-workers. And yes. When my mom met one of the Spanish teachers, she said, “Hi. I’m Robyn. I teach art here.” It was so awkward.
Oh. Yes. That teacher tells everyone that we are good friends, because he knows my mother. Yes. When I stop in to Starbucks on my way to work, the baristo does in fact ask me how my mom is.
And so we now know that no good can come from the people at Starbucks asking for my name when I stop in for a chai.
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