"Grande tazo chi...uhm, chai...I mean, whatever."
I couldn't even manage to sound pretentious giving my order. It's not what I'd normally drink, the tazo chai tea latte.
Four semesters deep at my Liberal Arts state college, and the words usually spilled out of my mouth almost without my consent.
"Venti hot chocolate, please."
At the very least, the order certainly wasn't what you would call a conscious decision. My name usually spilled out right after it; the barista would pick it up off the coffee-stained counter and attempt to arrange the letters on my oversized cup. Usually they were wrong, and I'd learned to recognize the different variations of my name pronounced by all the different accents employed at Starbucks.
I wrote this yesterday morning, in the time before class started since I'd gotten there so early. I had to stop when class started, and I haven't been able to figure out a way to end it since then...