First Visit to Starbucks: A Halloween Horror in Canada

Not long after my Subway fiasco, it was Starbucks’ turn. It was Halloween, and the streets were a wild parade of the bizarre and the spooky—Ghostface, Alien, Superman, you name it. We stood there, scratching our heads at the sight. “I don’t understand. What the hell is going on here?” Chandan asked, hoping one of us had some insight.

“Fuck it. None of our business!” Hemant shrugged, equally baffled.

“Yeah, screw it. But what do we do with the gift card?” I chimed in, pulling out the five-dollar Starbucks gift card our client had given each one of us earlier to celebrate Halloween.

“I suggest, my dear friends, that we go and treat our taste buds to some revered Starbucks coffee,” Chandan said, pulling out his own card.

“I’ve heard a lot about Starbucks, and I’m curious to see what all the fuss is about,” he continued.

Since we were all on board, we made our way to the nearest Starbucks just two blocks away. The street was bustling with Halloween celebrations, and the chilly night air made us long for a hot cup of coffee to warm us up.

Once inside Starbucks, the place was buzzing with activity. We stood in line, shivering from the cold, eagerly waiting for our turn to order. Hemant, being ahead of us, began scanning the menu.

“Do you know what this Caramel Macchiato is?” Hemant asked, turning his head almost 180 degrees to us like an Arctic snowy owl.

“No clue, man. Never heard of it,” Chandan replied promptly, just as confused as Hemant.

“Me neither,” I added, equally mystified.

“Hmm…And what’s this Frappuccino thingy?” Hemant turned his head again after another glance at the menu.

“No idea,” both of us replied in unison.

“This is an alien menu,” Hemant whispered. “I have no clue what to order, but we gotta spend this 5-dollar gift card.”

“Yeah man, we can’t let it go to waste. It’s almost…175 rupees,” Chandan calculated, gazing at the ceiling while tapping his chin thoughtfully.

Hemant and I nodded at the genius of Chandan.

“You’re right. Let’s play it safe and stick to what we know,” I suggested. “Espresso?”

“Done.”

“Done.”

I heard them say the word in unison.

We ordered three espressos, but when we received our coffees, we were in for a surprise.

“What kind of joke is this? The cup is huge, but there’s hardly any coffee in it!” Chandan said furiously.

.“What a waste of 175 rupees!” he added, his disappointment palpable.

Confused and unsure of what to do, we hesitated to ask the lady at the counter, fearing it might be some Canadian custom we were unaware of.

“Maybe that’s just how Canadians drink,” Hemant suggested, attempting to console Chandan by patting his shoulders.

We grabbed our cups and left the shop.

“Ugh! This is so bitter!” Chandan took the first sip and almost threw up.  “Is this the shit Starbucks is famous for?” He added visibly outraged.

By now, Hemant and I had also taken our first sips and could fully empathize with Chandan’s dismay.

“Hey, guys, I saw cream and sugar by the counter. Maybe we were supposed to add them ourselves?” I recalled.

“That’s it! They don’t mix it for you like in India,” Hemant acknowledged.

“Well, that’s just great,” Chandan muttered irritably. “Let’s go back and add some cream and sugar to make it worthy of drinking.”

“I don’t know about you guys but I’m not going back in there to make a fool of myself. They all have seen us exit the shop.” Hemant resisted.

“Me neither.” I supported Hemant.

“Fine, then. I’m not risking my taste buds with this poison any longer,” Chandan declared, tossing his cup into a nearby garbage bin. We complied and followed him as he walked away in disgust and agony of having wasted 175 rupees.