Tall blonde

“Hey, I’d like a Tall Blonde,” he said, snickering, “And that one with the ponytail looks pretty good. Just wrap her up and I’ll take her to go.”

Back at the espresso machine, the barristas rolled their eyes. “Yeah, like that’s the first time I’ve heard THAT,” one said.

I eyed them quizzically, and my barrista buddy explained.

“See, we’ve got this new lighter roast, called Starbucks Blonde,” he said, pointing to a bag of coffee beans. “And so maybe 20 times a day somebody comes in and asks for a tall blonde.”

(In Starbuckese, “tall” is a cup size. Inexplicably, it’s smaller than the grande or the venti, so it’s actually short, not tall, but I refrained from commenting.)

“Yeah,” said the other, a rather willowy woman with an ashen ponytail, “If one more guy points to me, I’m gonna dye my hair brown.”

The two at the register were cracking up. “Tall blonde, tall blonde–get it?” they chortled, and the clerk laughed politely.

“Yeah, SHE can laugh,” said her co-worker, “She’s a brunette.”

 

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