Starbucks Phobia

I love Starbucks (I know, I know. I'm soooooo original). Someone hooked onto the notion that gourmet coffee can soothe the soul of millions of needy Americans, and turned it into a fabulous success. The Cafe Mocha melts me into a pool of bliss in the wintertime, and the Java Chip Frappuccino is the summertime treat that cools my irritating moments. I buy Starbucks brand coffee (at Wal-Mart, because I'm poor and not sophisticated enough to be above Wal-Mart Starbucks) and a steamy cup of it is my daily retreat. Every stay-at-home mom should do it-it's the ultimate answer to "what great thing should I do with nap-time?" I'm drinking a cup of Espresso Roast right now, in my red mug with the white polk-a-dots that I won't let anyone else use. But I'm not really writing about whether or not Starbucks is good. I'm writing about another issue entirely: my husband has to buy my Starbucks.

He never asks me why I make him get out of the car and go in the restaurant and get my drink for me. He's too much of a gentleman, I guess, and his father definitely raised him to indulge his ladylove. Probably, he's already too familiar with my problem to wonder at me. Yes, I have a problem. And while it's one I don't really see other people exhibit, I know I can't be the only one out there with it. I call it Starbucks Phobia. And while I guess that could easily translate into "fear of everything" since the Starbucks insignia kind of symbolizes pop-culture these days, what I mean by Starbucks Phobia is a fear of interaction with people. It's not people phobia, because I like people and am generally very interested in enriching the lives of those around me. But I tremble at the possibility of having an interaction with somebody, specifically a professional interaction with somebody. Like ordering my drink at Starbucks, or telling the waitress at a restaurant my order (my husband does that for me too). When checking out at the grocery store my heart pounds in my chest until I feel sick. And please don't mention calling the doctor's office to make an appointment. I amuse myself, really. Because all of these and similar interactions are things I have done before, and will do again. Let's face it-sometimes I really need my Starbucks and hubby is not around to fetch it for me. So I suck it in, recall all of my PR manners I learned from my working years, and go get that frappuccino. It always goes really well. Of course it does! There's nothing hard about this. I'm a very pleasant customer. But that won't prevent me from quaking internally the next time I have to do it. I can't shake it. I can laugh at it and try to overcome it. But so far, my best efforts haven't overcome my lunch almost coming up when I'm facing the grocery store clerk with my pile of groceries.

Am I shy? Yes. All social situations big and small hold some degree of trepidation and agitation for me. But the professional interactions take the cake. Have I always had this issue? Yes. But it was not as bad before I became a stay-at-home mom. I know there are women in my position who leap at a chance to make a call to the doctor or go buy groceries, because they're so starved for human contact. For me, a life of seclusion seems to have developed a fear of coming out of seclusion. It's a good thing children need food, and need to be taken places like doctor visits and school, or I would stay at home and rot along with all the laundry and dirty dishes. I am glad that our children make us overcome our fears. They enrich us existentially, stretch us beyond our breaking point until we find that, actually, we don't break, we just get taller. Doing everything we can to give them quality of life improves our own quality of life. We don't want to transfer our weaknesses to them, so we learn how to not be overcome by our weaknesses. We don't want to be yelling at them all the time, so we learn to be patient beyond anything we thought we were capable of. We want to afford good things for them, so we deny ourselves the things we want and don't need and curb our selfish appetites. And we overcome our greatest hang-ups because they need us to take care of them more than we need to feel safe.

I guess the real word for my condition is "timid." Yeah. I know a few people who call themselves that. And maybe it really comes from a discomfort with putting ourselves forward. We are more comfortable lifting up our fellow man than asking for something in return. We have a fear of cutting in line, stepping on toes. It's only in my most aggressive moments that I can step forward when it's unclear whose turn it is and say "I will go now." I am always glad to stand in a long check-out line at the store and wait my turn. Knowing that several other people are going before me is soothing. And it gives me time to collect my cool for the dreaded confrontation with the clerk.

The internet can be quite the crutch for people like me. Thanks to email and on-line customer service, we can talk to people without actually interacting with them. We can conduct all kinds of business from the comfort of our preferred reclusiveness and feel relieved that we don't have to go out in the world where there are real people to assist us. We can hide behind the brilliance of technology and the convenience of doing all of our Christmas shopping on-line, and escape the heart-poundings of making an order by phone, or the terror of having to smile away a helpful store clerk who's asking us if we need help finding anything. At the store, I confess, I will casually search up and down an aisle for the item I need and wave off all offers of assistance, pretending like I'm just looking. I'm more comfortable that way. I'm in no hurry to get home anyway. I only get out on weekends and have to make it last as long as possible, even if it is just Wal-Mart. Besides, I'm busy steeling my nerves for when I have to check out.

I hope you're laughing as you take a look at what it's like on my side of the counter. I hope you're realizing that the frail-looking person who seems to want the floor to open up and swallow her, who is as awkward as heck about swiping her debit card, is just helplessly nervous about asking you for her meaningless little cup of coffee. Be nice to her. Give her a big, friendly smile and say something extra nice and uplifting to her. Join in her self-congratulations, because she will be walking out of the door telling herself "You go, girl!" as the little bell jingles goodbye. And she will be thinking, with great relief, that you are really nice.