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Regular Recognition

This morning, the lady at Starbucks kindof, sortof recognized me! I can feel it... in no time at all I will officially become a "Regular." Being kindof, sortof recognized made my morning trip to the office just THAT much better!

I've always wanted to be a Regular. To be known as "you know... the lady that comes in and..." ever since I worked at the bank right out of highschool. Of course, it was easy to figure out the names, but we still referred to our fondest customers in terms like "the lady with the smelly money" and "the guy who insists on signing in red" and "the idiot who is always waiting in the parking lot on Saturday morning before we open."

Then I got a job at Subway. There was "double meat cold cut combo" guy and "the chick who has to have her sub cut in thirds," not to mention "the Tuesday lady that pays in silver dollars."

The problem has always been that although I am a creature of habit, I don't do enough of one particular thing long enough to become a Regular. I tried once, a few years back. I was bound and determined to become a Local Regular. I ate corned beef hash, two eggs - sunny side up and a piece of whole wheat toast for lunch at this dive diner every day for three weeks before I gave up. I should've known it would be virtually impossible to achieve since you have to do the same thing in the same town for at least twenty years before you become a Local. And I didn't care for corned beef hash enough to commit to it for twenty years. But I digress. We're off the hash on on to coffee. Which is ironic in itself, because I don't even like coffee. Don't worry though, this still works because Starbucks has tea. Plus, I lowered the bar; Starbucks has a drive through and is located off the highway exit so there's no pressure to be a local. I can just be a regular.

And so it came to pass that I decided I would order the same thing every day, at the same time every day, in my efforts to become a Starbucks regular. I began my quest the day I returned to work from maternity leave. I figure this was my subconscious telling me that leaving my precious baby boy would be too hard so I should soften the blow by driving to a little window in the hopes of being recognized -- much like my precious baby boy now recognizes me by smiling when I talk to him. Sure, the barista wouldn't coo and flail her arms about, but she would hand me a warm cup of chai tea latte. It kind of balances out.

After two weeks of committment (and a cost of $4.17 daily) I drove up to the window and handed over my plastic. The girl took my card, paused and asked, "Didn't you come through already?" I assured her I did not, to which she replied, "Well, some lady who looks just like you came through earlier and ordered the same thing. I was surprised to see you because I thought you had already been through once!" She knew me! Well, kindof, sortof. I'm almost there...


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