The Magic of Starbucks

By Joshua Kwon

Welcome to Starbucks, a secret nook nestled away from the world. I’ll let you in on a secret: here, caffeine is more than just a beverage; it's a way of life, a religion, and a secret trick to guarantee that you return tomorrow. 

The menu could be a spell book. The words "Grande Iced Brown Sugar Espresso," are heard from a college student whose shoulder is decorated with a tote bag and whose laptop runs dangerously hot as 55 Chrome windows fight for the CPU’s attention. Then there's the Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino. Just the name gives me a toothache. 

Chaos reigns with each pump of caramel. "One pump?" you ask. The barista smiles. "Only in fours do we deal." Soon, your cup will be leaky with a liquid that would be better used as a car battery than a drink. 

The milk section betrays metaphysics, aptly holding everything but real milk: cashew, coconut, soy, almond, and oat. An unmilked cow sobs quietly in the distance somewhere, and yet, the lactose intolerant triumph, clinging to their half-sweet venti coffee with oat milk.

Every drink is a personality test.

• The Americano drinkers are for those who pretend they’re above sugar but still cry during the first twenty minutes of Up.

• The Frappuccino crowd is powered by colour, nostalgia, and unpaid internships.

• Matcha Latte enthusiasts are not really enthusiasts at all. 

• And the Pumpkin Spice Latte fans—oh, they return every autumn like migrating birds, armed with scarves, frivolous mittens, and knits.

And then, the names. Oh, the dreaded names. No mortal has ever left Starbucks with their name spelled correctly. Emily becomes "Anmilee," Robert becomes "Rort," and somehow, "Greg" becomes "Krahk."

Welcome to this magical mayhem, where whipped cream rules, caramel flows like rivers of ambition, and every sip tastes faintly of anxiety and dreams.