The other day while I was focused on pulling the perfect shot of coffee for a pre-teen who didn’t even look old enough to be drinking a triple vente mocha with whip, I toyed with the idea of having a drinking age for coffee like they have for alcohol, like 18 maybe? Although to be fair I indulged in my share of caramel frappacinos in my teen years, ironically at this very Starbucks.
I remembered feeling so hip sitting in the cozy overstuffed chair in the corner with my BFF as we gossiped and laughed and then snuck outside to smoke Kool menthol cigarettes. So who am I to deny an almost young adult of such a benchmark life experience! Scratch that, no legal drinking age for coffee, but shhhh! don’t tell but I’m not giving this 12-year-old three shots, she won’t even know the difference, in fact I’m doing her a favor.
“That’ll be $3.89 please.”
“Um, okay,” she says as she swings her Coach clutch onto the counter and counts out four dollar bills with French tip manicured nails.
Oh god! Who is this creature?! They sure didn’t breed them like this when I was growing up! “So like it’s usually $4.49, but whatever, your mistake I guess,” she says as I give her her 11 cents change and watch as her high maintenance nails hover over the tip jar before making it’s way back to her clutch. How rude!
“Actually,” I say, as I tap my short, nail-bitten finger on the specials board, right in front of her face may I add, “you get one free shot today, so no, it’s actually your mistake. Thanks and have a great day.” I smile really big as I’m thinking BITCH! in my head.
As she turns a bright shade that can only be described as crimson, I immediately feel horrible for being a mean bully to this 12-year-old. I mean she’s HALF my age for Christ sake. I need to get out of here!
Is anyone else having this problem?! Not calling 12-year-olds bitches, I think I hold the title for that one, I mean that feeling of drifting aimlessly towards, who knows what? Not nearly expecting life to be so idk, mundane? so dull, dare I say boring?
I feel like I spent the last four years, okay fine, FIVE years at the center of a vortex, spinning and spiraling through life at a heighten speed, sometimes extremely turbulent and borderline dangerous, trust me I have the scars to prove it, but always knowing that I was living life vibrantly, vividly, voraciously. The vortex has since spit me out and left me lying in a puddle of what used to be the promise of a very exciting life, except it didn’t leave instructions on how to make the promise a reality, so instead of riding off into the sunset surrounded by my awesome posse, I’m struggling to make sense of it all. Woe is me!