SBUX Partner Vengeance

While working at Starbucks in college I would regularly power nap during my breaks. Our location had the third largest morning rush in Seattle (just think about that) - and serving sleep deprived, self important, bitter office drones in spurts of ten thousand dillion can take it out of a person.

I can't remember if I was awake or asleep when I thought of this in the break room, but it has made me feel better when I'm helping ungrateful people ever since:

Reality: There was an especially catty, godless torture artist named Milea who would come in every morning during our peak rush asking for the most nightmarish latte imaginable. Not only did she want a variety of syrups, but she wanted them in fractions. For example: 2 and 3/5 pumps mocha, then 1 and 2/7 pumps vanilla, etc. In addition she would ask for half shots - give or take a half depending on the day. This all needed to be in a particularly logic and policy defying ritualistic order, and she would watch every step of her drink assuring that if you fucked up and gave her 1/1000 more or less of something she would have you start the whole shit-storm over again while she berated you as rude and incapable. She claimed to be able to taste the slightest inconsistency in her drink - though we all messed it up on purpose when she wasn't hawk-eying us and she never complained.

To make matters worse, she seemed to hate other women. Our best and fastest bar people were women, and without fail if a woman made her drink it was wrong. In fact, if a female partner even spoke to her she seemed compelled to complain to my male Assistant Manager - completely ignoring my female Store Manager. So, every time she came up to order we would switch out people at the bar just to accommodate this, fucking up our entire store's operation.

Unfortunately, I eventually landed on her short list of indentured servants worthy of making her Vile Concoction. I weathered it well, to the point where she did not force me to remake it once or twice in the year I worked there. I would happily set her drink on the end of the bar and say "A Tall Melia" signaling that all of us could finally relax because she would be leaving soon.

Dream: The morning is going normally. Melia shows up. I am called to the bar, forced once again to make that stupid drink that may as well manifest the shackles I could feel on my wrists and heart. I would go through the motions, Melia looking for the most insubstantial of fuck-ups so she could grind her dominant boot into my neck once again. It doesn't come. I do it perfectly. She can't and doesn't complain. She compliments my ability, smiles at me, even offers non-Starbucks small talk.

I walk over to the bar. I set down the drink, normally, gracefully. I call out "A Tall Melia". She glides away from the register, smiling. I smile back. Her hand reaches from her purse to the cup. Before she can touch it I slap the fucking shit out of that drink, throwing the cup off of the bar and splashing her goddamn bitch fuel all over the wall. I continue to smile. I win. She's probably exclaiming in some way. I don't care. Nothing she can say or do can take that from me. Fuck my job. Fuck that bitch. She can lick it off the floor. Whatever happens next doesn't matter.

It is the best goddamn dream I have ever had.