Doris

I recently moved in to a new apartment and am still figuring out the neighborhood: what grocery store to shop in, dry cleaner to use, car repair garage to take my car to next time I get into an accident, etc. I thought I had killed two birds with one stone when I found a grocery store with a Starbucks inside of it... something I think is unique to LA and one of the few perks of living in a culturally dead city. However, thanks to Doris I am now on the hunt for a new Starbucks near me.

When I went in to the Starbucks yesterday Doris was speaking to a manager because she had rung up $70 for one coffee. The manager was explaining to her that Doris had not, "Just pushed a button and suddenly the total was $70," which is what Doris was insisting had happened. Actually she had rung up the wrong $3 coffee over 20 times. That means Doris made the same mistake over 20 times before deciding she did not know what she was doing and calling for a manager. Even after the problem was fixed Doris kept talking about how "crazy" and "insane" the situation was to the manager instead of taking my order. Finally I interrupted and asked if I could order to which Doris said, "Oh sure. What'll it be, honey?" And thus problem two was born.

It's not that I mind being called honey now and again. In fact it makes me feel young so I say bring it on. But Doris did it repeatedly. In every sentence she slid in a "honey." And it quickly went from endearing to annoying to condescending. I got the sense that Doris was saying honey but really meant "bitch." And I did not like it. I did not like it a'tall.

So, I ordered the only thing I get a Starbucks since I don't drink coffee, an iced chai with skim milk. To which Doris responded, "Oh, we don't have skim milk, honey [bitch]." I asked what kind of milk they did have and Doris said, "Well, honey [bitch], we have soy, whole and non-fat milk." Problem number three.

I get that people in LA do things differently. It's the west coast, dude. I understand. We're all just chillin' out and makin' it happen. Good times. But skim milk and non-fat milk are the same god damn thing. Telling someone that you don't have skim milk when you have non-fat milk is a little bit like getting drunk with a friend from England then telling them you don't have a loo while you stand in front of the bathroom door and watch them pee their pants.

So, fine, I ordered the drink with non-fat milk and Doris began to ring it up. For some reason I decided to test my limits and throw a piece of Starbucks chocolate in there. There was a basket of them sitting on the counter next to the gum and the cookies and - whatever - I figure why not live a little. I've earned it! So I handed a chocolate to Doris who looked at it and said, "Honey [bitch], those aren't for sale, they're just for display." Really? How did I not know that? How could I not see the decorative merits of a wire basket full of Starbucks chocolates? It really made the room. Truly. When I said, "No. They're for sale." Doris ignored me and rang up my iced chai. Then there was a pause and Doris looked at me and said, "Oops, honey [bitch]."

And then Doris rang it up again.

And again.

And so on and so fourth.

She got up to about $40 before she called the manager.