Well.....(long sigh)....I'm....(gulp) one of them! (Insert collective gasp!)
"I'm Sydney and I'm a coffee snob." This is where you reply in a non-judgemental, surround sound, "Hi Sydney."
As much as I hate to admit it, it is true. I look down on people who don't grind their coffee beans fresh every morning. I turn my nose up at people who don't own french presses. I get chills from people who re-heat 15 hour old coffee in the microwave. I laugh at people who think that a drink that comes out of a machine from 7-11 can be called a cappuccino.
Just as I've come to terms with this blatant and obvious discrimination and started to accept myself for who I am and accept my Vespa qualities, life throws me a major curve ball.
Enter the WAWA. Yes, WAWA.
It's not baby talk...it's a Gas Station. I discovered the WAWA while driving up to Virginia on Christmas Day. We were on hour 11 of our 14 hour drive. It's 25 degrees outside and rainy. The car is packed up from floor to ceiling, my left butt cheek went numb after hour 9, and Emma has left permanent indents on my thighs from sitting on me for so long. No food places are open since it's Christmas Day so I've been forced to eat only gas station food. Needless to say, I was worn down. Steve suggests stopping for coffee. I make a face, insinuating, "why bother, there won't be any Starbucks open on Christmas Day". We see a gas station and Steve says he is stopping. The gas station is named WAWA. We start to walk inside, making immature jokes about its name. As we walk through the sliding doors this unbelievable aroma hits our noses and immediately our moods are brighter. We follow the aroma through the gas station food mart all the way to the back where we see a plethora of hot, fresh coffee. All different types and flavors. There is even a milk bar with a huge selection of milk and creamer choices. At this point I'm fighting my inner Vespa demons. I desperately am in need of a pick me up and the smell of this coffee is so inviting. But how could gas station coffee, (I shuttered at the thought), ever be as good as Starbucks? I told myself it was Christmas Day and I had no other choice, I would have to rough if. I pull myself together and muster up my inner Survivor skills and pour myself a cup of 'joe.' As I shut my eyes and press the cup to my lips, expecting to taste a stale, bitter, tar like liquid. I take a sip and scream, O.......M........G!! This is AMAZING!! From the color to the clarity, the nutty smell, the meaty taste and smooth finish. It was perfection.
As I happily skip up to the gas station counter to pay for my heaven in a cup, the lady behind the counters says, "That will be $1.18 honey." Could this experience get any better? $1.18 for all this yummy goodness packed into this 16 oz cup of bliss. Such a bargain I think to myself comparing it to Starbucks prices. Suddenly I feel a twinge of guilt, like I've cheated on my first love. I then take another sip and put my abundance of remaining change into my pocket, (since there is no tip jar at the WAWA and no need to feel guilty for keeping my own change) and walk back out to the car to continue the last leg of our drive.
I still can't help but to feel a little sad that my rose colored, mermaid encrusted Starbucks siren glasses have been removed. Sorry Starbucks, please know this hurts me as much as it hurts you--you have to know that. I never thought I could feel this way about another coffee. And I swear I never meant for this to happen--it just happened. You were my first love and that’s something that can never be replaced. I’ll always think back on the times I’ve held you in my hand with fond memories.This is not goodbye forever, Starbucks. I will return. I hope you can wait for me. In the meantime--I promise to use protection (and by protection I mean a coffee sleeve). Please don’t hate me.
