Ordering coffee can be stressful — unless you’re named David or Joe or Jessica. Many of us with more unique monikers feel the need to adopt an alter ego, our “Starbucks name,” to avoid mishaps.
My Starbucks name is “Maria.”
I first went to Starbucks over 15 years ago as an undergraduate student at Lafayette College. In my young girl naivete, I used my real name for years. I cringed when it was unceremoniously butchered by an unsuspecting barista. Every time I received my Starbucks order, I’d also receive a new name. I’d become “Julio” (with an H sound), “Julia,” or “Maria.” Sometimes, all I’d get is a puzzled squint as their lips struggled to form words to announce that my order was ready. And other times, they would repeat a syllable here, a syllable there, stutter through it — loudly — until I sidled up, shame-faced to the counter to claim my nonfat caramel latte.
People would stare, or at least that’s the image my wild mind would conjure up. I’d feel like a brilliant searchlight was shining in my face, identifying me as the odd one out in a sea of pristine, homogeneous, harmonized faces.
