I came back from Ireland on a bit of a tea kick. Itâ€™s especially satisfying in the afternoon instead of a cup of coffee– and easier on the stomach. Plus, thereâ€™s also something nice in the ritual of it, waiting for the tea to steep and so on. It requires a bit of patience.
Now at Starbucks, unlike in the rest of the universe, if you order tea, they want to know if you want iced tea. Yesterday, I couldn’t take it anymore:
Rob: Iâ€™d like a grande black tea, please.
Barista: Iced tea?
Barista: Hot tea?
Rob: Yes, of course. Hot tea. You know, when someone asks for tea, it means hot tea. Unless they specifically ask for iced tea.
Barista: Well, some people say tea and mean iced tea.
Rob: Well, theyâ€™re wrong.
At this point, the barista turned around to fix may hot tea. And probably spit in it, too. So much for that patience thing.