From The Great Big Archives: Letters Left Unsent

Summer, 2008. 

Dear lady in front of me at the Bishop Street Starbucks yesterday morning:
It was bad enough that you held up the line because you kept getting a “cranberry” scone when you requested a “blueberry.” It was bad enough that you had to send back the same blueberry scone, twice,  because you didn’t think you got a blueberry scone.

But for crying out loud… did you REALLY have to insult the baristas by telling the entire store that “they don’t know what they’re doing”? And did you REALLY have to insult the intelligence of every other person right behind you by opening your package in front of us and asking out loud, “Does this look like a blueberry scone to you?”

I don’t know who you’re trying to impress here, but I bet you already guessed that you worked my last nerve when I told you – and, in effect, defending the poor baristas behind the counter – that, yes, you did get a blueberry scone after all, thank you very much.

Let’s be fair here: It doesn’t take a masters degree to be able to tell the difference between a cranberry and a blueberry. I might not have your salary or corner office, but even I was able to call you out by showing you the tell-tale purple bleedmarks from the fresh blueberries that Starbucks uses for their scones.

But just to be sure, though, I think you shouldn’t drink that coffee until you get to the office.  

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