I called five Starbucks today. Five. It was 5pm. I could barely keep my eyes open. I wanted to surprise Andy by bringing all three kids, by myself, to his 6:30pm softball game. And all I wanted was a Frappuccino. (I had a gift card!)
The idea of driving to our closest Starbucks, which has no drive-thru, and unloading all three kids just for a drink, was exhausting. (And I already was so tired.) So I went to Starbucks’ website in search of a store with a drive-thru. The closest one was in Anderson. So I made a mental note of the address, and loaded all the kids, a bulging diaper bag, double stroller and quilt in the van. Forty-five minutes early. Just for a Frappuccino. But unfortunately, according to my Garmin, that Starbucks no longer exists. So I searched for all Starbucks and started calling them (my Garmin nicely supplies phone numbers as well as addresses for locations). “No,” “no,” “no,” I heard over and over again. And by now Owen and James were crying. And Sophie was lamenting the fact that we weren’t going anywhere.
I got mad. Then unreasonably panicky (I was so tired). Then determined. I drove. And drove and drove and drove in search of someplace with a drive-thru that would have something like a Frappuccino. I drove until I risked being late for Andy’s game.
Deflated, I drove through a Frisch’s drive-thru.
“May I please take your order?” a woman’s voice said.
“Do you have anything at all like a coffee Frappuccino?” I asked.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
I repeated my question.
“No,” she said.
I ordered a Diet Coke.
It tasted terrible.
We made it to Andy’s game on time. The boys drank breast milk and Sophie delighted in slurping water from the water fountain while I held her, getting soaking wet. But I was so bitter. All I wanted was a Starbucks with a drive-thru. All I wanted was an icy, cold, caffeine-filled Frappuccino.
What is wrong with me?
“It is inhumane, in my opinion, to force people who have a genuine medical need for coffee to wait in line behind people who apparently view it as some kind of recreational activity. I bet this kind of thing does not happen to heroin addicts. I bet that when serious heroin addicts go to purchase their heroin, they do not tolerate waiting in line while some dilettante in front of them orders a hazelnut smack-a-cino with cinnamon sprinkles.” —Dave Barry
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