I just got 'Bucked.

I am all about self-humiliation. I think a day without humiliating myself is a day wasted. However, I do not like humiliating other people. My friends will tell you that I will go to great lengths to make people laugh (e.g. pink 80's prom dress, blow up dolls as birthday presents, Taylor Swift-covered walls, singing really bad karaoke songs, etc. etc.) but I am horrified - HORRIFIED - when someone else is embarassed in public. That's why I can't watch shows like "The Real World" and "Big Brother," because those people are so constantly embarassing. If I am forced to watch, I usually put my hands over my face like a kid watching a scary movie. In summary, me embarassing myself=hilarious...me embarassing other people=uncomfortable and shameful.

All of this to say that some people enjoy embarassing other people, especially when they know more about a subject than you. Like when I talk to some people in the medical profession and I explain the surgery I had on my knee. This is how I usually describe it: "My knee kept popping everytime I bent and then straightened it after sitting for a while, so the doc went in and snipped the tendon thingy that holds my knee cap in place so that it would be a little more fluid in movement and it worked! No more pain!" Now, if you just read that, you could probably understand exactly what the surgery entailed, no? I mean, Forrest Gump could understand that. But certain medical professionals feel the need to say, "Oh, you mean a Lateral Release." Now, I could give the person the benefit of the doubt that they thought I actually wanted to know what the procedure was called and therefore were informing me so that in future conversations I could use two words instead of the incredibly long phrase should the subject ever come up again. But since I am a cynical bitch, I am going to assume that they were just trying to embarass the shit out of me. What good did correcting me in front of other people do other than feed your giant ego because you knew a technical term? I mean in my line of work, if someone says "I will get you the measurements and the info on color and size and all that," I don't snidely say, "Oh, you mean the specs." I would kick myself in the balls (figuratively) if I ever did that to someone.

The worst of these offenders are the employees at Starbucks. I visit The 'Bucks far too often. I can't help it...I am addicted to freshly blended, over-priced espresso beverages in pleasantly colored brown and green cups. It reminds me of my time in the Girls Scouts, I guess. I usually order one of three things when I go to The 'Bucks because I am a creature of habit and fear change. For this study, we will only examine the behavior of the employees at the 'Bucks across from Vanderbilt (it figures). So, I walk up to order and already I am nervous because I want to get the terminology correct because there are people behind me and if I get it wrong I will just die. Plus? I like for cashiers/servers to ask me as few questions as possible (like, "How would you like that cooked?" or "What two sides would you like with that?") because it makes me feel smarter (small pleasures, people...work with me). Being the 'Bucks regular that I am I know that ordering usually goes like this: 1) size, 2) type of milk (nonfat, 2%, etc.), 3) no foam or no whip, 4) syrup flavor if applicable, 5) name of drink (latte, mocha, etc). This particular time it happens to be about 150 degrees outside, so I opt for an iced version of my favorite beverage, the nonfat, sugar-free vanilla latte. While standing in line, I have been going through my order in my head so that when presented with snooty cashier, I can get it right and experience my own sense of smug satisfaction. Finally, it is my turn. "Can I get a grande, nonfat, sugar-free vanilla latte, iced please?" Perfection, Amanda. You nailed that shit. Everyone is looking at you like you are the hero that just hit a home run with the bases loaded and two outs. You are the Barry Bonds of Starbucks, my friend. After taking the order, cashier dude usually yells the order to drink-maker dude and drink-maker dude repeats it to make sure he gets it right. Good system, small margin for error. "I need an ICED grande SKINNY VANILLA LATTE please." Motherfucker!! I thought I had this. Who knew that the word "iced" should go before size? No one told me this. Here I stand embarassed in front of all of the Vandy doctors in their scrubs and Vandy students with their laptops and trust funds because I didn't know that "iced" goes first and their is a fucking nickname for my beverage of choice. Cashier dude looks at me with which I can only assume is an eat-shit smirk. Drink-maker dude follows protocol by repeating "ICED GRANDE SKINNY VANILLA LATTE???" Sonofabitch, YES! Shit, do you have to say it that loud? To make matters worse, drink-maker dude tacks this on to the end: "Do you want whip cream?" Fuck me! I said the drink wrong AND I got a follow up question. I am so embarassed right now that I want to curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth repeating "There's no place like home," over and over again. And then..."So we've got an iced grande NO WHIP skinny vanilla latte." Kill me now. I give him my money, defeated. I can never show my face in this Starbucks again. Damn them for making me feel inferior! I grab my drink and run off to the little side station to get a napkin. I pull out a pen and write on the napkin: NOTE TO SELF: ICED GRANDE NO WHIP SKINNY VANILLA LATTE...DUMBASS. I have to study this for the next time I visit the 'Bucks...at a completely different location, of course. Hey, you live and you learn, right? And you learn that addictions will make you put yourself in humiliating situations over and over again.

Now if you will excuse me, I have some studying to do before tomorrow morning's Starbucks run...