Dear self-satisfied, smug person who ruined my morning:
I don’t often go to Starbucks except as a treat once in a while. Wrapping up another semester was just such an occasion.
When I got to the window of the drive-through lane, I was told you -- the person in the car before me -- had paid. I went from shock, to fury, to plain old outrage.
Number one, had I known this was the blessed day your munificence would shine upon me I would have ordered more than a short blonde roast.
Number two, I didn’t ask to be infantilized, to have my agency removed by you without your even checking with me, just so you could pleasure yourself at the thought of how wonderful you made me feel.
Guess what, special person: I can afford the two-dollar drink; that’s why I was there.
The money you saved me meant less to me than it did to you, but what you stole from me can’t ever be returned. You stole my right to be an adult, to have agency over my own transactions, and made me feel like a meaningless pawn in your self-narrated story of your own wonderfulness.
Next time, feed a homeless person or go pet some shelter dogs; don’t buy a coffee for middle-class grump like me unless you’re sure it’ll be appreciated.
I bet you used the phrase “pay it forward,” all day long that day. Well, that you did, because you soured my morning and I dished out my crabbiness on three classes of young minds and sent them out into the world confused and pissed off and alone.
In the meantime, I’ll go and buy my own cup of coffee when and how I want it, and you go find some other conscript for your awesomeness.
I’m Dan Libman, and that’s my perspective.
