The Usual

I am well known at the local Starbucks. So well known in fact, that I merely have to walk in the door, and the barista is already starting on my grande skinny caramel macchiato. She doesn't even bother to ask "The usual?" anymore. Which is convenient, really. I don't even have to open my mouth. Except... what if I wanted to change my mind? What if I wanted to exercise freedom of choice? What if I felt like a tall decaf white mocha? I would have to interrupt the well-oiled Starbucks routine. It might never recover. I briefly toyed with the idea of going to a different Starbucks a couple of miles away just so that someone would ask me what I wanted, for once. But that would add at least ten minutes to my already rushed morning routine.

And then this morning it happened. The face behind the counter was only vaguely familiar. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't remember your drink."

Quick! Now's your chance! Order a venti green tea frappucino! the voice in the back of my head screams. "I'll have a grande skinny caramel macchiato," I hear myself saying.