I work four ten hour days. That means I do not work on Fridays. I know, it rules.

Here is the part that does NOT rule: leaving the house at 6:30 am.

At that time of the day, I do not have the wherewithal, the chutzpah, the *verve* to make coffee. So, I go to Starfucker's.

At 6:30 in the morning, there is rarely a line at Starfucker's drive through, because everyone else is sane and still in bed. There is just me, groggily staring over my steering wheel, hoping to coordinate my feet and my hands at the same time.

And every morning, I show up at the drive-through, and the same lady asks me for my order. Every morning, I look UP AT THE CAMERA and tell her exactly what I want, and that order never changes. And EVERY SINGLE MORNING, she asks me for my name.

Really?

First of all, there's no one else with whom to confuse me. I'm the only one in line. Second of all, you have a monitor in which you can see my face. Thirdly, if this is some corporate attempt at getting to know me, she SUCKS, because I am there EVERY MORNING, and if she doesn't know my name by now, then clearly she cannot be trusted to make one (1!) grande bold coffee with two shots of espresso, two creams, and one Splenda.

So: here has been the recent dialog:

Me: I'll have a grande bold coffee with two shots espresso, two creams, and one Splenda.
SF's Employee: Will that be all?
Me (Eye-rolling): YES.
SF's Employee: And can I have your name?
Me: Castro.

Of late, I've been on a communist kick. Monday, I was Frida. Tuesday, I was Castro. Wednesday found me as Che G., and Thursday, I was Lenin.

She never laughs. She never acknowledges my strange names. In fact the one time she guffawed at my name is when I said "Fritz."

Why don't I just start giving my name out as "Grande Bold Coffee"?