Challenge #1: Starbucks, Breastmilk & Me

[Originally posted at Observations, and such; reposted here to complete the set.]

I like coffee. But then you might have guessed that, given all the coffee cup graphics here. So I have been watching the Starbucks Challenge over on greenlagirl with some interest, and think the idea of Fair Trade products is not so bad. I wanted to play too, so today, when I stopped for coffee, I resolved to ask for a Fair Trade cup. Here's what happened at the store in La Verne, California at the corner of Foothill and D Street today:


SBX Challenge: My Turn

The line was out the door – nearly 20 people – so I had plenty of time to screw up my courage to ask for the Fair Trade drip. And I was really going to do it too, long line or not. I felt like I could because I kind of know this crew because I come here so often.

“Can I get something started for you, sir?” the counter guy asked as he worked his way down the line. I was six patrons away from the register.

“Yes. I’d like –” I began, thenhen silence: Tic tic tic, the quiet stretched out longer than the line. “Uhhhhhm, a venti mild drip, please,” I finished, caving to the self-imposed pressure of the line behind me. And a venti hot water, half full, please. ”

“Yes, sir,” he said, “The mild is almost finished brewing, I’ll bring it over to you; here’s the water.”

“Uhm, thanks. Say – oh never mind.”

Just Like Mother Makes

See, I’m a stay-at-home dad this semester. My four-month-old daughter Hannah and I drop big brother Spencer off at 5th Grade down the street, but the traffic home is abysmal at that hour. So I stop at the nearby Starbucks for an hour or two, writing, using the WiFi to email, etc. And I order Hannah her “mama latte” – a venti cup half full of hot water.

The half-cup is just exactly right to float a four ounce bottle of frozen breast milk in. With the lid-on, the bottle floats so that the hot water covers the entire bottle, with the hot water just a fraction of an inch below the screw top, which is important because, frankly, all baby bottles seem to leak a little. In about 10 minutes a frozen bottle is warmed to perfection, a thawed bottle in about three.

The baristas all know Hannah, and greet her by name. If I order an espresso drink, they have taken to writing “The Dad” on the cup in place of my name. In fact, I don’t think they know my name anymore.

A man with a baby is apparently such a novelty, in fact, that every mom with older kids at home and any grandparent with a grand-baby “just about her age” feels compelled to say hello.

To Hannah, not me.

Inevitably they coo at the baby, smile, and wave and say “Hi!” in a goo-goo voice, and then they make The Statement.

“Oh, having a day out with Dad, hmm?”

Okay. They know she can’t answer. I know she can’t answer. They know I know they know she can’t answer. So even though they also know that it would be impolite to say “So, first time out with the baby?” to me, they get to ask anyway by pretending to ask her.

I have considered taking ventriloquism lessons. “No, you sexist pig; dad is my primary caregiver," she would say, in a cutesy-falsetto preternaturally mature baby-voice.

“And if you don’t believe it just watch how fast he can change the nipple on a bottle one-handed, and see if he doesn’t unconsciously do the “mommy mambo” swaying back and forth to comfort me (even if I am asleep in the stroller) while he talks to you.

“And don’t even get me started on this man’s skill as a diaper slinger.”

But no. Usually I smile and say something benign yet subtly cutting: “Yep, just like every day.” (“Aha! Sexist pig!” is the subtext of course, but I smile nurturingly, and coo at the baby. No one can accuse me of anything!)

So this day, we’re settling in to our usual spot in the corner at the table with the computer plug, and the perky counter guy brings my mild-drip over. Maybe three minutes have elapsed, but the rush of 20 people is down to 2 people in line. I am emboldened.

Really Going to Do It This Time!

“Oh, hey, uhm, excuse me. “ I say, calling him back to me from halfway back to his station. “Would you be able to get me a Fair Trade drip?” I ask. He looks puzzled. “Uhm, a second cup,” I add lamely.

“Sure. I’ll hafta brew it; it’ll only take a minute.”

I’m floored. I had my “didn’t you read the email” shtick all practiced. I was prepared to politely but firmly grasp the teaching-moment and point out the fair trade label, explain the best way to “say yes” and see if he put his foot in it.

A perky “Sure!” was not in the script.

“Uhm, no, that’s okay. Next time. I didn’t want to ask before with such a long line,” I explain sheepishly. “No worries,” he says, more puzzled than before. “Just ask!”

Guess he read the email.

Way to go greenlagirl and cityhippy! Way to go Starbucks!

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Amused by the Starbucks Challenge? Me too. Now come see my real mission in the blogosphere: Easy Green and its companion journal, Observations, and such: Notes on the Kitchen Calendar