There’s one Starbucks in town where the people behind the counter passive-aggressively punish me for my passive-aggressive refusal to use their size designations (“tall,” “grande,” “venti”). I’m serious. They do this almost every single time. I’ll say, “A medium mocha, please” and the person at the register will say, “A grande mocha?” and I’ll say, “A medium mocha, yes.” And he’ll say to the barista, “One grande mocha!” and the barista will call back, “One GRANDE mocha, coming up!” We’re all about three feet away from each other, so the call and response is totally unnecessary. Moreover, the last time I checked — which was just now — “grande” translated as “large” in not one, but two languages. WTF?
I’m not prepared to boycott the Starbucks store in question, not yet, because it’s very conveniently located and I do enjoy being anonymous there, which I can’t be at my preferred haunt unless I go in the evening, which I almost never do. Also, while Starbucks might, as a matter of policy, hire only natural born cheerleaders, the aggressive cheerfulness that works my nerves is a matter of training, not individual choice. I’m pretty sure of that. So I try not to hold it against anybody at the local level. (I said that I try. I didn’t say that I always succeed.)