Writing Prompt: Starbucks

This writing prompt comes from the wonderful world of Reddit. It’s amazing the kind of stuff you can find on there…

A Starbucks Barista has given you a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with non fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.

It’s funny how a last day on earth is the same whether you’re sick or scheduled for a lethal injection. In my case, I’m sick, dying to be precise. The doctor has given me about a week…about six days ago. I’ve been holed up in this hospital bed, feeling my body weaken, counting down the seconds of life.

My wife cried. My mom cried. My dad cried. My siblings, cousins, niece, nurse…they’ve all cried. I cried with them.

But now I’m done with crying. Now all I want to do is enjoy my last day on earth as much as I can. I want Starbucks, specifically a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with nonfat milk.

Back before I got sick, I used to have a Caffe Vanilla Light Frappucino with nonfat milk every single day before I went to work at my law firm. It was the best way to start each day working at my dream job. I had it all back then…now I have hours.

It took some doing, but I’ve convinced the doctor to let my wife and me go out to Starbucks. I remember striding into my local Starbucks dressed in an expensive suit. People, specifically women, used to stare. Now everyone stares at the withered man in the wheelchair.

“What can I getcha?” the chipper barista asks.

“A Caffe Vanilla Light Frappucino,” my wife says, trying to sound chipper herself.

“With nonfat milk,” I put in.

“Certainly,” the barista (Her name is Tiffy…not Tiffany…Tiffy.) says. She gives me a sympathetic look. It’s like I’m dying or something.

We go to a table and wait. I look at my wife, who is trying not to look at me. I remember when we used to compete to tell the best work story. I remember when it was a race to see who could get promoted at their job first. I remember when we had our entire lives together to look forward to.

Now she won’t have anyone to compete with. I reach out for her hand, and she jerks it away because she has to wipe her eyes.

I’m helpless. I can’t work. I can’t be with my wife. And if the doctor is right, I can’t live to see a new week. There is only thing in my life that I have control of anymore: a Caffe Vanilla Light Frappucino with nonfat milk.

“Here you go!” Tiffy comes bouncing over.

“For you, ma’am, a passion iced tea lemonade.”

“And for you, sir, a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy.”

I stare at this foreign drink in front of me. Of course. Of course I can’t even get my favorite drink correct on the day I’m probably going to die.

“Um…that’s not what he…” my wife begins.

“It’s perfect, Tiffy,” I cut in. “It won’t kill me to try something new.”

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