dear gigantic monster

dear starbucks.

hi. i never go to you, and this is why: out of some vague notion of support for the little guy. an understanding of trade practices that could fit inside one of those tiny latte spoons i get at bellino. the thought that if i had my own coffeeshop, i would get to spend all day with people i love, and therefore hate you for threatening those days.

except.

you finally did it. you researched my life. did you get a sample of my dna, unwittingly? a tiny pinprick at the prosecutors office when i reached for yet another file that was useless to me except when i make all my notations on the front of the file out of a desire to 1) remember what the hell happened and 2) cover my ass in the event that we get a repeat performance of the "intern from hell" opera that was last semester? a swab of spit from one of the conference tables, especially that time i had to tell fatdad that this conversation is over, and i'm two seconds and one more "this is bullshit" from calling one of two baliffs that tell me about their planned trips to ireland and show me pictures of their children and will break your ugly, ugly face and make it look like an assault on me, and therefore send you to jail? not that i don't love my job, because let me tell you, deploying armed guards in any time period is fucking awesome. truth. justice. american way.

but you did, didn't you starbucks? you finally made me love you. and you made me love you for the cinnamon on top of the whipped cream. the slight sweetness under the coffee. the....the......i actually looked at the packaging and admired it, for God's sake. all of your cinnamon dolce latte goodness. what have you done?

you have won.

yours,
catherine loya. we don't need the m, you and i.