Coffee, Cults, and the American Dream

This blog is about parenting (allegedly). But a big part of being a dad has nothing to do with your child and everything to do with your child's mother. It pays to make the mama happy. And the best way I've found to do that is to bring home Starbucks coffee. It's warm and sugary and comforting. My wife loves it.

But here's the thing: Starbucks is a cult.

I know you're waiting for a punchline, but it's not coming. Think about it. It's an organization that doles out performance-enhancing drugs to its addicted disciples. It started with a few locations and now it literally covers the globe. Just take a quick look at these fabricated statistics:

• For every American over the age of 18 there are 75 Starbucks.
• There are more Starbucks in America than synagogues, churches and mosques. COMBINED.
• 1 in 3 children will be hooked on Starbucks before the age of 13.
• 3 in 3 children will grow up in a home affected by caffeine addiction.
• 4 in 3 children will be assaulted by Starbucks advertising by the year 2020.

You've been warned.

For all its dangers, I used to think that the simple act of PICKING UP coffee from Starbucks was fairly safe and painless. I mean, yes, Starbucks is infiltrating our lives with caffeine and sugar, but at least I can get it from a drive-thru. And bringing home that steaming paper cup of addiction earns me so many husband points! I'm willing to be a coffee mule if that's what it takes to make my wonderful wife happy. 

But you know what? Even that has to be difficult. Did you know that there are unwritten rules to the Starbucks drive-thru? Yeah. There are. And you'll be shocked to learn that I DON'T LIKE THEM.

Our nearest Starbucks has a weird parking lot. There are two entrances that snake around and feed into the narrow corridor of the drive-thru lane. So there is one line that starts on the North side of the building and another line that joins it from the West. 

I was at this important juncture one day and my wife, Shelsey, was in the passenger seat. As I moved past the intersection and up to the intercom, my wife gasped in horror.

"What's wrong?" I asked, a picture of concern and loving care.

"You just cut that lady off!" Shelsey whispered.

"No, I didn't. I waited for my turn." 

And I had. Because, as everyone knows, when there are two merging lanes, the proper etiquette is to allow one car to merge from Lane A and then another car to merge from Lane B. This back-and-forth continues until traffic is clear. At least, this is the way traffic works in civilized society. But in Starbucktopia? NOOOOO!

Apparently we're supposed to keep track of who has been in line the longest and let that person go first, without any sense of what is best for keeping the whole line moving.

Sure enough, I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw a very angry, uncaffeinated woman in her middle years glaring at the back of my head. I had broken the unwritten rules of this godforsaken land.

But it gets worse. Apparently the Starbucks-initiated also hate capitalism. Read on.

On another trip, I managed to navigate the nonsensical line and make it to the pickup window. A chipper young girl leaned out, smiling.

"Hey, the person in that car in front of you paid for your coffee!" she said joyfully.

"Oh, wow! Really?" I leaned forward and tried to see who was in the SUV in front of me. I knew it must be a friend of mine but I couldn't quite tell who it was.

"That was really nice of them," I said. The smile froze on the girl's face. She stared at me like I was from another planet. Then she coolly gave me my total and handed me the coffee.

My wife whispered frantically from the passenger seat.

"You broke the CHAIN!" she said, mortified.

"What in the world does that even mean?!"

"The chain of kindness! The pay-it-forward! You were supposed to keep it going!" She tried to melt into her seat, ashamed to be seen getting coffee with such a lowlife.

Apparently, when you go to Starbucks, you risk getting caught in a Ceremony-of-Kindness-and-Communist-Ideals. One person pays for the car behind them in line. That person is thrilled that they received free coffee. As a token of their undying love for Starbucks and their fellow man, the gifted person proceeds to pay for the coffee of the addict behind them. And so the chain goes on, unbroken... until Scrooge McWasserstein ruins it.

Does this make sense? No. Because you know what coffee I agreed to pay for? My family's coffee. I know how much it costs. And, Lord knows, it's enough! Sure, my one latte was paid for by the car in front of me. Am I then obligated to pay for the entire volleyball team in the van behind me? Apparently so!

These are not the principles that made America great, dear readers. We need to get back to our roots. We need to get back to the lifestyle and beverage choices of our Founding Fathers. And that's why I've chosen to announce my candidacy for President of the United States of America. For all you need to know about my platform, see my campaign poster below.

Make New Friends but Keep the Old, One is Silver & and Other's Chrome

My son and I were hustling that morning, trying to get out the door and onto the road. We piled into the truck about five minutes later than we intended but I still had a fighting chance to get the kid to school and myself to work on time. That’s when I noticed that I was nearly out of gas.

Yeah? So it’s gonna be like that, universe?

I used the petrol fumes remaining in my tank to coast into a gas station right off the highway. As I pulled up to the pump, I noticed there was a biker gang off to the side of the parking lot. I pointed them out to my boy.

“Pretty cool bikes, huh, Jono?”

The kid began pointing and staring at a motorcycle he particularly liked. The large, bearded men in leather watched as he pointed and talked. The biker dudes looked none too pleased.

I jumped out of the truck and started to fill the tank. We were really running late now. In my periphery, I noticed one of the bikers starting to walk toward me.

Side note: I’m very aware in situations like this. I try not to judge people by their looks and I generally assume that if I’m not bothering people they won’t bother me. But still, you have to be ready to defend yourself and your family, right? Anyway, that’s how I see it. And Batman agrees.

The guy came around from behind my truck and said, “Excuse me.” 

It looked like I was about to get another chance to make an unexpected friend! Jono has a way of doing this to me. Like the time I walked into a pizza place and told the kid at the counter that I had an order for "Wasserstein." Jono piped up and mentioned that there also might be an order under the name of "Skywalker." That's a good way to make a new friend. Just an excellent ice-breaker.

Jono also likes to ask people at the grocery store things like "Do you know something cool about dinosaurs?" They usually don't. We help them. Friends!

Or there was the time Jono insisted that we stop and give money to a homeless man on the street because, come on... he doesn't even have a house! He needs some money! (That one was actually super convicting. Thanks, Lord, for a kid who is often holier than me.)

There are a lot of people to meet out there in this big world and Jono is usually more willing to meet them than I am.

Anyway, back to the scowling biker guy. He was pretty scruffy-looking (though not quite of the “nerf herder” variety), wearing a worn leather vest and chaps. He was also pretty big. Some of his buddies were even bigger. He had noticed us pointing at him. He definitely wasn’t smiling.

“Yeah?” I said.

“I noticed you have a kid with you,” the man said, nodding to the cab of the truck. 

“Would he like a temporary tattoo?”

He handed me a sweet B.A.C.A. tattoo sticker.

“Thanks!” I told him. “That’s awesome!”

The guy walked back to his buddies. I had to grin. I love it when people turn out to be as cool as you hope they are. As we pulled away from the pump a few minutes later, my son rolled down his window to scream “THANK YOU” at the top of his lungs. The bikers still didn’t smile. But they had definitely made one kid happy.

Okay, it was time to get my little hooligan to 2nd Grade.

Let’s ride.