Strike. Fucking. Two. Starbucks.
This morning, Etienne had an appointment near our place, so instead of heading for the Campus station, we walked along Elgin to the Starbucks at the Lord Elgin hotel, where I bought him a coffee before we parted ways. I don't care for this location, as they make Caramel Macchiatos with a chocolate caramel sauce, which just ruins the drink, so I figured I'd stop at the Starbucks on Slater and Metcalf on my way to the Transitway. It's not a store I frequent in the mornings (or indeed, at all, really), so I was prepared for the inevitable name-game (see yesterday).
When I placed my order, the cashier asked my name, and I gave it; for good measure, I pointed to it on my gold Starbucks card. He got it right away. But then he called the order to the barista, who made him repeat it several times because of the busy din of customers and coffee grinders. He said it clearly all three times.
I picked up my drink.
Oh, fuck you Starbucks!
This morning, it read "Fanty."
No, seriously...fuck you, Starbutts.
A better policy...
...Wish you were here.
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