This morning I ordered a small coffee at Starbucks. Halfway back to my office I realized they either substantially shrunk their “tall” size, or they gave it to me in a double espresso shot cup. And even Starbucks isn’t so evil as to downgrade a small to 8 oz., right?
This is the kind of thing that ruins my day. But maybe not why you’d think. I really don’t mind when people make mistakes. (I’ve spent the past two months having my glasses re-made over and over because they can’t make them right, and my biggest complaint isn’t the wasted time and energy–it’s the snippy salesmen.) What bothers me most about stuff like this is, I don’t do anything about it.
The truth is, I didn’t realize it was the wrong size halfway down the block; I realized it two seconds after I got it, at the cream and sugar counter. I could have turned 45 degrees and asked for the correct size. But then the dementia sets in: Am I being too picky about a couple of extra ounces? I don’t want to hold up other customers. What if they don’t understand what I’m saying, and I have to try to explain it, and what if I get flustered and can’t? How embarrassing. It’s probably better to just leave it alone. But I paid for a small, this really isn’t enough coffee for me right now. But is it worth it?
This is racing through my mind as I walk out the door and get farther away. And the farther I go, the harder it is to turn around–and the less likely it is that I will. So I sip my tiny coffee and berate myself for failures and missed opportunities.
It’s not about the coffee, is it?