Starbucks. Every morning. Same drink. Every morning. Same baristas. Almost every morning.
This morning was a relatively new girl. I’ve only seen her maybe twice before. She’s nice enough, pleasant at the drive through, no problems.
Until this morning.
I pull up to the window, and in a gravelly voice she says, “How you doin’?” (because I live in Jersey, where we all talk like this) I say, “Good! How you doin’?”
And she says,
Oh my God, I am so sick!
Okay, is it just me? Do you want the person who is mixing your drink, without gloves on, putting your lid on your cup – you know, the lid that will eventually touch your mouth – announcing that she’s sick? And not just “sick” but “so sick”?
Honey, could you do me a favor? Stay the hell home or tell me you have a gravelly voice because you stayed up all night drinking and smoking cigarettes. Or cigars. I’d much rather leave the drive through window shaking my head at some crazy kid who had the energy to stay up drinking and smoking and still make it for an early shift at work than scrambling to find my anti-bacterial gels, wipes, and sprays.
Ugh. And me without a flu shot.
