Dear Howard Schultz,
Will you please tell me what illegal, addictive substance you put in your chai tea lattes to make me crave them so? Until recently, I thought it was just me. I struggled with my affliction alone. Then, reading one of my favorite blogs, June Cleaver Nirvana, written by Holly, I discovered that she suffers from the same irresistible need for your tea of ecstasy. I've found strength in her confession. Your irresponsible hawking of this compelling nectar needs to be addressed.
Like all junkies, I've fought. I try to resist. I tell myself to limit it to one a week. I make it a few days, but I can't do it. I need your recyclable cup of happiness. I see through your scam with your Ethos water and your responsible, sustainable coffee growth program. That's the lure you hold out to the tired mothers of the suburbs and the cities. Come, you entice, sip relax, save the world. Feel good about yourselves. Mr. Schultz, I'm on to you, but I can't stop myself.
My husband has tried interventions to help me. He's forced me to read The Latte Factor many times. He's sat me down and plotted the compound interest on the amount I spend on chai tea lattes on graph paper. I chose to forgo my fancy cell phone, rather than give up my daily chai. I have a pay-as-you-go, emergencies only cell phone. In this day. The sacrifice.
Did you know you are tearing families apart peddling your sweet poison? I have left my three, precious children strapped in an enormous triple stroller outside of your entirely-too-narrow doors while I prostate myself at your Barpriestesses feet and pray to the gods of caffeine and spicy yummy goodness. That's right. I've abandoned my children at the door, on the other side of a huge glass window, their little faces a picture of woe, until I can get my daily fix. I've considered unleashing my toddler cyclone of terror on your hip chairs and shelves of breakable ceramic, but I fear I would be cruelly banned. I'm not sure I could endure the withdrawal symptoms.
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The triple wide. Note the telltale green straw in the cup on the right.
When the shame and dirty looks became too much, did it deter me? Oh no. I resorted to sitting outside your den of inequity beside my bedraggled urchins, waiting for an unsuspecting good Samaritan with a five and my chai order in my hand. You read that right. I have panhandled for coffee favors. Begged strangers to take my money and my carefully written out order into your store with them. What's next? Will I sell my body for a chai tea latte?
Mr. Schultz, Zeus of Starbucks, stop the madness, make this right.
Put wider automatic doors, or better yet, a walk up window in your neighborhood Starbucks. (Preferably at the 37th and Grand store in S_____, WA. That's my fave.
Your biggest junkie,
Anymommy
P.S. I'd settle for a life time coupon for one grande, non-fat, extra-hot, no-water chai tea latte a day. Or two, no pressure.
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