I get up and travel to London at 0230 every Tuesday morning for my Crafti Creations slot at 0745. Come Warwick services at 0430 (half way point, too), I'm gagging for a skinny latte to keep me awake. The girl who serves me loves it when I go in as I seem to perk her up too. She's such a sweetheart.
Now, in the past, telling Starbucks baristas your name and having them spell it correct has been somewhat of a challenge. I've had Kirsby, Kiersti, Kirby and bitch. Not kidding. But we did write that on ourselves!
The other week I was Madonna
And these days I will settle easily for this:
Oh Starbuckies, you let me down.
I said my nane was Darth Vader but some foreign killjoy (and clearly an uncultured non Star Wars fan) wrote Daft Laydon. What the actual hell?
Starbucks, please ensure your recruiting ethics conclude that your baristas are
A: good listeners
B: good spellers
3: have a sense of humour
D: assumes your name is not David.
Love Starbucks but can Costa start writing names on cups toot sharp? Nicer coffee and red, textured cups make for a happier Kirsty.
And believe me, Kirsty needs some happy right now. Dying dot com.