No Identity? Time for Starbucks!

Tall, decaf, no sugar, Pike’s Place with extra milk. The overpriced, heavily chemicalized, yet aesthetically sold coffee that lends an identity to the blandest of people.

You might not know much else about the world, or yourself, for that matter, but you know exactly what you’re going to get at the drive-through from the sweet-smiling window person who hands you your sense of self in a fancy paper cup with a stick in the spout to hold the steam in of your $5.50-worth identity.

You swing by, on your monthly ritual with your 14-year-old– your usual on your minds. You’re dreaming about the above-mentioned drink, and a tomato-mozzarella panini, and your mini-you is fantasizing about her hot chocolate, and pumpkin muffin.

It never crosses your mind that Starbucks was born because of people like you. By that, I mean, painful customers who order eggplant-parmigiana without the parmesan at The Olive Garden, the Tom Kha soup without the oyster sauce at Best Thai, the daal makhani without the makkhan (cream) at the The Taj, and….you get it. It’s not the fact that you’re vegan or vegetarian or whatever, but because it’s important that the world respects your preferences. And it will, as long as there’s money to be made.

 At Starbucks, you’re the one who adds panache to your already perfected sense of self, by saying, more milk, less Pike’s Place coffee.

You watch your family members groan in restaurants as you order, and slide down their seats in embarrassment at drive-throughs, wishing silently that they could order out of a different car. They need to make their peace with it because the business exists to serve your needs, you reason. And for a premium like that, they owe you that. “Be assertive, kids. Tip better if your conscience weighs on you. But get your food as you like it.” Shakespearean, you think.

You pull up to the ordering machine. “Welcome to Starbucks. What can I get you today?”

“Tall decaf, no sugar, Pikes Peak with extra milk, and less Pikes Peak, and a tomato mozzarella panini for me, please,” you say.

“And a grande hot chocolate, single pump chocolate (atta girl!), and a pumpkin muffin for me, please,” chimes in your teen.

Let me repeat your order “tall-decaf-no sugar- pikes peak-with extra milk- less pikes peak, a tomato-mozzarella panini, grande hot chocolate with single pump chocolate, and a pumpkin muffin,” raps the sweet-smiler.

“Yes!”

 These guys are phenomenal you think. Seriously. Have you tried ordering a cheeseburger with no meat at Mac Donald’s? It takes them five seconds just to get over the fact that you’ve neither lost your marbles, nor are you yanking their chain. Then again, the price difference between the two stores is a whole identity type. You rarely find the easy-going, fry-munching Macs at a drive-through willing to give five descriptives, and a small fortune for a cuppa against all reason.

You pull up behind another van, inching slowly in tandem. Window time. “Hi. $25 even”. Dang! Hurts, every time, right? It’s a snack and drink. You pull out your phone, and let the sweet-smiler zap the Starbucks app. It gives you a few measly points to woo you back when you’re low on identity.

”Here’s your food,… and drinks,” says the sweet-smiler.

 “O where’s the hot chocolate?” you panic. “Never mind, we have it. Thanks.”

The sweet-smiler reaches to get something else, but you quickly repeat that you found it, and pull away.

It’s a ten-minute drive to the park where you usually picnic on a park bench, and enjoy your food while watching the joggers, kids, and grackles…some running, and playing, others cawing, flying, and eating crumbs that self-assured folks like you drop all around them. You pull out your panini; your teen reaches for her muffin inside the paper bag. It’s missing! Dang! $4.50 for a tiny muffin, and it’s not even in the bag! “Wanna head back?” you ask,  ”.. or just share my panini?”

 “I want my Saturday muffin.” wails your cranky teen. So back into the van you hop, and drive back, and through the drive-through. “Welcome to Starbucks…What…”

“Ah yeah, sorry, but we didn’t get the pumpkin muffin we paid for,” you complain.

 “O yeah, pull up to the window.”

You do.

“Here ma’am,” the sweet-smiler hands you your muffin.

You realize that’s what he was reaching for when you drove off the first time.

So now your orders, and in effect, your sense of self, are all complete. You can safely rejoin civilization in the park—armed with concrete knowledge of who you are—all beautifully packaged, marketed, and dispensed – courtesy of Starbucks.