Psyops at Starbucks

This is today’s Moment of Clarity. A new one comes out every Mon, Wed, & Friday.

– written transcript –

I went into Starbucks because there was nothing else around and I said, “I would like the coffee cake” and the guy responds, “What do you mean? You mean the crumbleberry coffee cake?” And sure enough, it said right there on the label, “Crumbleberry coffee cake” but I’m a fucking man and I don’t say words like “crumbleberry” without a gun or a sick baby pointed at my face. So I stared at him and said, “Yeah, the coffee cake.” And he was like, “Which one?”

And he fucking knew which one because the other one was called “coffeepalooza” or some shit and was clearly only meant for middle-aged asexual women who wear Christmas sweaters out of season and own the entire box set of “Who’s The Boss.” He knew what I meant but he wanted to make me say it because he sits behind that counter all day getting screamed at by 18 year-old Snooki-look-alikes because  he only put one pump of caramel piss juice in their raspberry mochiato caramel piss late instead of two pumps. So his only joy in life is forcing 30 year-old men to say the word “crumbleberry” as they slowly place their balls in the tip cup. So I did the mature thing and told him to go fuckleberry himself and I left.

But the truth is it’s not his fault. It’s a corporate decision to infantilize us because they did extensive research and found we’re 15% more likely to buy the coffee cake if we subconsciously feel like we’re little kids. I’m sure they had a long boardroom debate about whether to name it crumbleberry or cwumblebewwy. They love to subconsciously turn us into kids because kids make stupid decisions like eating 500 calorie cwumblebewwy coffee cake and purchasing Snuggies and wearing crocs while we tell Howie Mandel whether we’re “really sure” or only a “little bitty sure” that we wanna open the second suitcase on the video game version of “Deal or No Deal.”

Making us feel like children is useful to our corporate daddies. Don’t forget that next time you’re changing your order at Coldstone Creamery from “love it” to “gotta have it.” Or next time you’re ordering a Subway sandwich from a sandwich artist because someone in an office somewhere did testing and found that we serfs are 12% more likely to buy a sandwich from a sandwich artist as opposed to a sandwich technician or sandwich aficionado or sandwich warlord. And I don’t even think they’re right! I’m more likely to buy from the warlord because if you don’t he’s gonna spray honey mustard across your face like a culinary money shot and then post the video on youtube – because that’s what warlords do. They take away your dignity.

1 comment
  1. Saying crumbleberry is no more an assault on my manhood than was changing a diaper for one of my baby girls. If there are two kinds of similar coffee cake I have no problem specifying which one I want. I also have no problem visiting a Starbucks. Their corporate policies have no effect on whether I think their coffee tastes good. The only issue I have with them is their cup sizes. I always order a “large.” I have too many penguins on the island of my mind. If I take the time to memorize the intricacies of each restaurant’s menu, one of the penguins carrying a truly vital piece of information might abandon the island in favor of this bit of trivia. Knowing that “tall” means “small” is too much already. “Small,” “medium,” and “large” convey my preference, and when they prompt with their preferred word I just respond in the affirmative.

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