Note: We at Starbucks take coffee very seriously, dating it for six months before we even consider making a breast move. If you would not sell your own mother into white slavery for a good espresso, please just go apply at Tully's.


What do you love about coffee?

I love the way it brings people together. I love how it brightens one person's morning, and how it can help a student study through the night. I love how many flavors coffee comes in. There is a coffee for every type of mood you are in or any area of the world.

I love how coffee can speak the language of the wind, and how it rivals Jesus in its superpowers. Coffee has the power to make people feel better and on rare (I'm told documented) occasions, cures children's diseases.

Not only can coffee fly first class to Switzerland for only $200, but it can also teach the stewardess how to speak Cantonese on the flight. Coffee is everything and everywhere, although sometimes it makes you pee. And sometimes you don't have access to a bathroom, and maybe you have to go in the alley behind Arby's, and maybe it traumatized you a little.

That is why I love coffee.

Have you ever been to a Starbucks? Describe your experience.

It was chilly. A cold afternoon. Darla and I delighted in making small talk while crossing the square. We saw a homeless man pee in a dumpster across the street, but no matter. We were on our way to Starbucks.

Starbucks & Chocolate
Starbucks and Chocolate (Oil on Canvas) by Eva Soukoreff
The wind blew Darla's scarf in a way that told her it was time for coffee. Of course in those days we felt it was always a time for coffee. War and famine and carnies and bad smelling puppies had torn the region and left us hungry for the days of yesteryear. We heard stories of Starbucks—of far off places, mystical things like harems and indoor plumbing…and exclusive selling rights to certain music.

How I wished Father could have seen me that day. To know I was in a Starbucks living the life a person deserves to live…realizing that being in a Starbucks meant that time would stop and oxygen ceased to be oxygen but became a beautiful woman tending to your every practical and sexual need.

Darla and I hurried across the street. We knew the faux-European joys and shameless self-promotion that awaited us inside the doors of Starbucks and we were eager to indulge in them. I took off my kerchief and ordered my Grande Mocha Latte Fucka Donkey Bullshittista Piece of Crapadande. Darla and I sat down knowing that all would be okay with the world. I knew, as she did, that Starbucks had undoubtedly saved our lives and the lives of many others, and soon, very soon, would put a stop to war as it had done with world hunger and ugly children.

The jitters though—well, it had probably contributed to that. And phony, yuppie assholes who like to pretend they're sophisticated—it had also probably fed that trend. You're not European! You're from Texas, you douchebag! But as we left Starbucks that day Darla and I both knew that somehow, somehow everything had changed. Maybe it was just that we realized we had spent our entire month's rent on Decaf Komodo Dragon Blend and some kind of pretentious pastry called Pain au Chocolat—yet still, as the wind blew, Darla and I were aware our lives would never be the same.

I attest that these statements are true, over-the-top, and reminiscent of an early eighteenth century Charlotte Bronte novel. I accept that the falsification of my undying love for Vanilla Rooibos Tazo Tea Latte or the discovery that the mere sight of a Nonfat Colombian Café Mochachino does not send excited chills down my spine could constitute grounds for dismissal, being totally ostracized by the caffeinated community, and a requirement that all Starbucks employees call me "Stupid McPoopy Pie" when and if they pass me on the street/break into my apartment.

Signed: Brie Stimson