I Have An Addiction Sir!
Isn’t it bad enough having to go home for the holidays, listening to the incessant naggings of your parents asking you what it is that you’re planning on doing with the rest of your life, while they still act like you’re sixteen and fail to recognize that you’ve literally been living on your own in a city for the past four and a half years, that when you wake up in the morning after a night of drinking downtown at over priced bars with everyone you’ve ever graduated from high school with, talking to you as you think to yourself, who is this? and you nod and smile anyway because they seem to know/remember a lot about you and you can’t, for the life of you, remember their first names, that you have to sluggishly, head pounding from $10 vodka sodas, make your way downstairs and open the cabinets of your childhood kitchen to see the worst thing in the world you could ever imagine seeing sitting before you: decaf.Out of anger and the knowledge that you won’t be able to function for the rest of the day without it, you drive in search of it. No Starbucks around the corner on Huntington, or up Mass Ave or down the street in the Prudential Center. No. At home you sacrifice, and speeding in your clothes from the previous night that you slept in and have yet to take off, all you see are pink and orange signs that radiate the horrible stench of sugary liquid that people keep insisting on calling coffee.
Dunkin Donuts is ruining my life. Well, it ruined my holiday at least and while it’s normal to see a Dunks on every street corner in the Dunkin Donuts-loving-Boston, going home and seeing new ones popping up everywhere makes my heart start to race from panic much like the effect of a doppio espresso macchiato.
Are we really sacrificing quality for speed and pastels that don’t even match?
All I know is that after four days of withdrawal it’s good to be back in the city, where at least both establishments are represented equally. And if Freddy Ferrer is right, and there are two types of New Yorkers, just call me part of the java leisure class, part of the “BlackBerry-packing, Prada-wearing megalopolis” sans the Berry and Prada.
I’m a daughter of the Cleaver characters, who paid too much for a college education and is currently being underpaid in an entry-level job that I’m overqualified for, packing my own lunch to save up for Starbucks, the rocket fuel for the people who do the city’s really hard work-clutch our hot white and green cups tightly with the aspiration that someday, we too, might be lucky enough to get paid for hardly doing any work at all.
posted by Victoria Comella @ 2:45 PM
1 Comments:
Ok, I can't help it....this really bothered me- "the horrible stench of sugary liquid that people keep insisting on calling coffee."
I'm so bothered by this I can't even articulate it in coherent thoughts.
I will now dispense with the thoughts that are shooting through my head:
NO!
Wrong!
You're crazy!
You're a horrible stench of sugary liquid!
Those pastels are beautiful!
I hope Starbucks dies!
So now that I've pacified my inner second grader, I can continue on with my life.
Thank you.
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