Just why in the hell do I go to Starbucks?

Why?

I have an embarrassing admission. I go to Starbucks regularly.

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Who wouldn’t want the same-ness of it all, day after day?

Who wouldn’t want the queues of people waiting for coffee despite having more Starbucks per square kilometer in central Bangkok than confused backpacker zombies stumbling in the murderous heat?

Most importantly, who wouldn’t want to be christened with a new name every time by a barista, to whom you shout what you think is a simple mono-syllabic butchered version of your name, only for it be completely mangled further? 

A sidenote on names:

Every time I enter a Starbucks, I can see the barista licking his or her lips in creative anticipation. They play it cool, mind you, asking you casually about what coffee you want and whether you’d like to have something to eat along with you. And then they pick up your cup and a sketch pen and, almost as if this isn’t what they live for, and ask you for your name. It is noisy and you make an attempt to scream your name, almost desperately, stressing every single letter of what you thought was your normal Indian name (how wrong you were). 

You needn’t have worried about getting it through, though.

Your name is but just a prompt for the creative juices to start flowing. A wildly imaginative interpretative art is being scribbled on the cup with a flourish and the cup has been dispatched to the machine for filling. You wait, your heart thudding, to learn the name you’ve been bestowed with and when they eventually they call out for Diego, you don’t even notice. After several minutes, you realize that a Diego isn’t going to pick up the coffee. You approach tentatively and see that it’s the same coffee you ordered and pick it up. Viola! Today’s interpretive name is Diego. You walk out of the shop feeling like a Diego and wondering what a Diego would do on a nice day like this.  

Hey, hey, hey, but at least the coffee is worth it right?

Not really. 

Starbucks makes coffee in much the same way as someone makes NFT art - with a blend of excessive hype, confusion, and the lingering question of whether what you’re paying a lot of money for is really what they say it is. 

Is it good coffee? No.

At least, it’s coffee right? Maybe. 

Is it hot? Yes, terribly. (or what my dad would call lukewarm)

Wincing at the heat torture to my hands despite a second jacket for the cup (I now understand why someone sued them), I drink it like a hot drug. It has the unique taste like it has been seeped over the collective disappointment of everyone going to office on a Monday morning. Bitter. Watery, like the tears of Elon Musk’s employees (I mostly get the Americano these days).

Over time, you get used to anything.  

So why the hell do I go to a Starbucks more often than I should.

I don’t go for the enjoyment of the coffee. It’s the kind of decision-less place I go for comfort.

When I was working in an office, it was the blazing hot distraction in my hand I needed to walk sheepishly (and sleepily) into the neon glow of cubicles.

When I want to write, it is the place I go to feel like what I am doing is something more than sitting and tapping at keys. There’s nice seating, WiFi (no one asks you that you reup a voucher every two hours) and some bland useless music in the background. I do not have to think of where to go, what to order and how long to stay. 

Purr’fectly good place to chill….

More importantly, it’s the kind of social space I love as an introvert.

It is almost always packed and bustling and noisy. In Bangkok, unlike, let’s say Bangalore, the crowd is way more diverse. Tourists are getting a coffee before a long day of sightseeing. Someone is pitching their landscaping business. A group of three, including an Indian sardar and two Thais, running some kind of local business (I haven’t figured out what) meet everyday to discuss the plan for the day. Two grandmas are gossiping in Thai. Children are coloring in their books. Other laptop junkies are huddled over their respective laptops, busy typing away. 

It’s the kind of atmosphere that energizes me. I love being by myself. I also love being in these social, local places where you can be amongst people but not necessarily engage in specific discussions with any of them. 

More importantly, I discovered that if you go to one Starbucks long enough, the barista will eventually get your name right (after you spend one morning writing it for her in the cup) and then a kind of magic happens - you don’t even have to tell your name anymore but it is written down for you everyday.

The Starbucks remembers! 

Could be Worse,

Tyag

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