Earlier this week I was out shopping for Christmas gifts, when I decided to stop and get some coffee. Last Friday someone at work gave me a gift card redeemable at this particular coffee franchise (which may or may not have been Starbucks), and I planned on getting a plain coffee to go. After parking my car, I checked twice to make sure all of the doors were locked; the last thing I needed at this point was for someone to steal all the gifts I’d just purchased. I pulled the collar of my coat up in a feeble attempt to guard against the cold wind that swept across the parking lot, adjusted my wool hat, and quickly jogged into the warmth of the coffee shop.
Safely inside, my heart sank when I saw how many people appeared to be standing in line. After 7 hours of shopping, it seemed like everywhere I went there was a line to stand in. “So what’s one more?” I thought as I stepped up and waited behind a really worn out looking woman; her kids were, at this point, having a tug-of-war with the retractable belt barrier that organized the line leading up the the counter. She just stood there with a blank expression on her face.
“Shouldn’t be too long. They keep these lines moving pretty fast here,” I reassured myself while checking the time on my cell phone. This is, of course, unless someone gets really particular about their coffee order. Soy milk. A couple of ice cubes to cool it down a bit. Two shots of decaffeinated espresso in addition to the two caffeinated ones. Hazelnut syrup. No, wait. Caramel. Can I get both? Small, but put it in a medium cup with room. No, I’m not planning on making a ghetto latte. You need to restock the Splenda. That sort of thing.
I look ahead and it appears one man is causing the “barista” that very sort of hassle. “What do you mean you can’t do it?” the man asked loudly – more surprised than annoyed that the woman behind the counter was hesitant to accept an airplane bottle of Crown Royal and use it in preparing an eggnog latte. “I’m sorry. Can’t you just add it yourself afterward? I can leave room for it,” she offered as somewhat of a compromise. “No, it’s just not right unless you mix it in with the steamed milk first” he responded as he scratched his head. By this point another employee behind the counter blurted out “Wait a second! You’re Bill Murray, aren’t you!?” At that moment, everyone in the store turned to look at him. “Yeah. I guess I am,” he responded.
“Oh, well, in that case” the woman began as she took the whiskey from his hand. “I guess we can do it. Just this once.” She handed the Crown Royal to her coworker, who dutifully poured it into the stainless steel pitcher of steamed milk he already had prepared. “I really appreciate it, guys,” Bill Murray said, putting a $10 tip into their jar. “Even if word gets to your boss, its not like anyone will ever believe it.”