Alright, so here’s the scene…
Taco Bell drive-thru. 7:43 pm. An overcast early Spring evening.
I’ve pulled up to the little box squawking at me with a clarity somewhere between Morse Code and Russian submarine radio signal, placed my order for a pair of burritos and a Diet Mountain Dew, and pulled forward.
Let’s first address any confusion that might stem from the title and/or existence of this article. This is not an installment of Shit That Needs to Stop, as I have already addressed the most egregious missteps possible at a Starbucks in a previous post.
No, this is the second installment of the award-winning series Excerpts from Suburbia, and it focuses on the quirks and foibles of, and anecdotes from, local Starbucks locations.
Before we did rage-inducing irritations. Now we do cute idiosyncrasies and stories. Good? Good.
Anyway, without further ado (and I’ve already ado’d the shit out of this), on to Excerpts From Suburbia : Starbucks.