It’s no secret that I love coffee. Black. White. Decaf. Double decaf. Skinny. Tall. Grande. Extra hot. Extra shot. Mocha. Cappuccino. And with sprinkles. I like coffee.
I’m sad to say that I’ve not always had such a strong feeling for coffee. I remember my dad always took his coffee black and strong, but I just couldn’t stand the smell, or the way it looked like a bottomless whirlpool of black nothingness. It scared me. But Dad seemed to like the stuff.
When younger, a cup of coffee seemed to me like an accessory an adult would have to be cool, that they didn’t really like the taste. But then I realised that my dad wasn’t actually cool, and sadly wasn’t ever going to be cool, so he must have liked the taste. I decided to experiment. I measured out various amounts of coffee; a tablesoon, a teaspoon, 2 teaspoons, and some I mixed with milk, some not. I just couldn’t get it right. Fed up of the taste I already knew I didn’t like, I was about to give up until I noticed the hot chocolate in the cupboard. Surely a little bit of chocolate wouldn’t hurt. I added some hot chocolate powder into my coffee and voilà, perfection was born.
Since then my love for coffee has continued to blossom over the years, and said through blushes, I must say that I have been very experimental with it. Not only have I tried many different syrups but I’m now one to try different coffee shops.
I was reading a post the other day and found someone who described their relationship with coffee the exact same as I would. “We used to be just friends who would meet every once in a while and only when I was really tired. Also, I never really let coffee be itself around me. I always forced it to take on different appearances and flavors. I never allowed it to be who it really was. It was a very selfish relationship“.
Another post that pinched a heart string of mine spoke about associating coffee with a place, that “Coffee epitomizes the imprinting power of place. In turn, place symbolizes an attached ambiance, a feel, a mood, a hue associated with the place that holds the coffee“. I completely agree with this. I started out going to Starbucks quite a lot, not just for the coffee but for the freedom of sitting there with a book or my laptop and just to forget the world. Apart from the serenity that Starbucks oozed, humour was also a key factor that kept me coming back.
For a while now I’ve been keeping a photo album on Facebook called Starbucks’ Love for Me where I’ve documented some of the drinks I have bought…with unfortunate misspellings of my name. My story is not the first, nor the last as the Daily Mail’s Hilarious Starbucks cup spelling fails article shows. The staff at Starbucks claimed to want to get to know their customers better, to increase the sense of community they are always trying to portray.
Here are a selection of names I have been given by the staff at Starbucks (heads up – my name is Annie)…