ramblings, random musings, fascinations, rants, raves and revelations

Just yesterday as I was forcing myself to sleep again, I received a text from JC - “Ano na?” which I replied - “huh?”. He then texted me again as I gave immediate responses… - “Saan ka?”, “Home”, “Gawa mo?”, “Watching TV, ikaw ba?”, “Dito kina Ki**, lunch ka na?”, “Di pa”, “Tara sa Rob pioneer”… and so on, and so so..

To cut the already long story short, We met and made our way to the mall. There we had coffee at Starbucks and met our friend Jay and Ralf. Kiko also met us for a taste of buko and “pinatubo” - as JC calls that empanada-looking-yummy-food we had. I missed our then religious meetings and Starbucks tambays. We both love coffee and shares the same fondness for everything “Starbucks”.

I love Starbucks and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I love the pleasing aromatic smell when I walk into the place. I love the cups, and mugs, and French presses, and wildly expensive coffee makers and coffee gadgets they sell. I love the fast and friendly service provided by the green-aproned baristas.

I used to have satisfying weekday evening routine that involves Starbucks. At approximately 7:20pm, Monday through Friday, I visit the Starbucks conveniently located mere minutes from my office to pick up my Americano. My order is always the same. Venti Coffee [dark roast]. Most evenings, I can get in and out of there in less than 5 minutes, despite the evening rush. That might have something to do with the fact that I don’t have to speak while in Starbucks [other than to say "Thank you" when I'm handed my coffee]. That’s because they know me. And they know my drink. In fact, when they were running the “2008 Starbucks Planner”, JC and I had 3 for each.

The mark of a good and experienced barista is knowing your regular customers, and let me tell you, the baristas at my Starbucks rock. Most of them know me. Not my name, but my face. And more importantly, my drink order. I approach the counter, and many times my Americano Coffee it already sitting there waiting for me, because one of the baristas spotted me coming in and knew what I would order. Other times the barista waiting on me says “Venti Americano for Michael.” Not a question, but a statement. I nod my head or say “yes, please.” I grab my drink, and I’m on my way.

The system is not always flawless though. One particular barista has asked me twice in the last month “Grande Half-Caff?” [A half regular, half decaf coffee for those of you not fluent in Starbuckian]. I must look like the “Grande Half-Caff” guy. When I say “Nope. Venti Americano” she looked embarrassed. But she’s new. Give it time.

And once, about a month ago I went to Starbucks late on a Saturday morning. Not a day I normally go, and not the time I normally go either. Would they still know me? Was the recognition by the baristas more of a situational thing? Did they only know me because I was there like clockwork every day during the week? But most importantly, how would the baristas react when they learned I wasn’t getting my normal Americano Coffee? I figured chaos would ensue.

You see, it was a hot and humid morning. It was around 11am, and it was already pushing 90 degrees. I didn’t want an Americano Coffee. It was too warm out. I wanted a cold drink. So I approached the counter. “Americano Coffee” stated the barista with a smile, and turned around to grab my drink. “Nope. Something different this morning, ” I said. “I’ll take a Grande Non-fat, Sugar-free Iced Vanilla Latte.” She looked at me as if I had sprouted horns and a tail.

There’s just something about visiting a place where “everybody knows your name” [or rather, your drink]. I see many of the same customers in Starbucks each and every evening. I’m always greeted with a smile, and all the baristas seem to be in perpetually good moods, which I find surprising since it’s so late in the evening. Oh, and the coffee tastes really good too.