| rev:text
| - The tension hangs thick in the air, like a wet fog. They know as soon as I walk in the door. They can smell it. I am a Starbucks guy. An enemy soldier boldly strolling (meekly shuffling) into enemy territory. Like an old west saloon, the hubbub of the day falls to a sudden halt. Bespectacled hipsters stop padding away on their laptops, urbanites of undermined origins stop gently bobbing along to the latest grooves pulsing through their earbuds. It all stops, and you can practically hear a needle scratch off a record.
"Look, guys, a Staaaaaaarbucks guy is here," a flannel-clad beardo falsettos into the pregnant silence. The entirety of the shop roll their eyes in unison. Rolled eyes are the snapped fingers to this particular West Side Story. The judgment settles heavily on me as I approach the barista. She narrows her eyes and, through gritted teeth, manages "what can I get started for you?"
The menu is impressive. The coffee concoctions are simpler than, ahem, other establishments but still offer plenty of room for customization. A full, lunch-centric food menu is available and there are plenty of fresh baked goods. This is how the other half lives. Could... could all the propaganda foghorned at my dumb face by the green logo'd woman be... be false? No! I must not give in! I am here for reconnaissance! Nothing more!
I request a large white chocolate mocha. "Okay," says the barista. What am I supposed to read from that? Well, get ready for this next bombshell, folks. "Can I get your name?" she asks as though I'm not on a secret mission. I am prepared, though. My coffee war espionage training kicks in just in the nick of time.
"BEN ROETHLISBERGER, QUARTERBACK OF THE PITTSBURGH STEELERS," I answer. She holds my eye for a moment. Is she on to me? The seconds feel like hours.
"Okay...?" She scribbles Ben on the cup. Whew. Almost blew my cover.
Despite the traffic in the shop, the staff move quickly and keep everything in order. Sooner than is reasonable, my name ("name," you guys. Shhhh) is called and my white chocolate mocha is ready. And... and it's beautiful. The barista has made a little heart shape with the espresso in the frothed milk. No one is staring at me like an outsider. They never were. They're living their lives like I'm living mine. Just enjoying some coffee.
They aren't the enemy and we're more alike than I'll ever know. I like flannel! I like eyerolls! I like this white chocolate mocha! I like the sweetness on the frothed milk! I like that the price is pretty solid! I like Colectivo! I said it and now I'm free! I LIKE COLECTIVO! I, "BEN ROETHLISBERGER," LIKE THIS REALLY PRETTY GREAT COFFEE PLACE CALLED COLECTIVO!
Give peace a chance, dude. The only casualty in this war is mediocrity in coffee choice.
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