In my dreams, I actually make it to the coffee shop before I get to the office. I walk the extra 3 blocks down Connecticut Avenue, through the bitter cold and biting wind just for coffee. Or, actually yuppie coffee -- a latte. But then I open the doors to the shop, and realize that apparently, 100 people have the same dream. All wanting their half-caff, extra-hot, frappa-mochachinos with extra whip and no foam. Quite frankly, that's too many choices to make at 7:45 in the morning. Latte for me. Hazlenut if I'm feeling especially ornery. And this morning, I'm feeling especially ornery.

Starbucks in the morning is its own bustling metropolis. There are distinct groups of people. The daytimers, who armed with their laptops and wifi access cards, have already scoped out a comfortable sofa chair or seat and dumped what seems like literally all of their belongings on it. They are in it for the long haul. They'll be there when you get your afternoon fix, still typing furiously. The drive-bys are there too, looking at their watches, incessantly peering over the shoulder of the person in front of them as if that person couldn't say the words "grande soy latte" fast enough. They're the aggressive drivers of the bunch. They're late to work because they shaved every possible minute from their morning routine to get more sleep. And they're fixin' to get a cup of extra-shot, hard core coffee. If there were car horns in lines, they'd be laying on them like there was no tomorrow.

Then there are the tourists. People like me that simply don't spend enough of their disposable income at Starbucks to merit an honorary citizenship. People that don't know the lingo. Who know what the heck a Chantico is. Or what the difference is between a Sulawesi and Sanani coffee bean is (don't act like you do either). People that, when they get to the front of the line, go completely blank. I'm the guy you secretly want to kill because I am standing between you and your addiction, tapping his lips in quiet contemplation and saying, "Wait...is the grande the large size or the medium size? Because the sizes are called different things at Caribou." Yes, I love coffee. No, I don't like spending as much as I do for lunch on a cup.

All things being equal (and caffeine drug dependency aside), I drink at least a cup every day. But I just won't spend five bucks every day for it. Really, it's the principal of the matter. Like paying $10,000 to put blinds on the windows of your house. Plantation shutters...whatever.

I confess. I'm not fluent in Starbucks-ese. There's something to be said when a company like Starbucks can affect the way we talk and act around other people. It's only a matter of time before the Oxford English Dictionary has entries for words like frappachino and chantico. And I'm not quite sure I'm comfortable with that.

Oh, and then there was the time that I spilled coffee on my neck...so maybe I'm a bit biased.