Yesterday, in the throes of a dual craving for caffeine and calcium, I paid a rare visit to the Starbucks located off the lobby in my office building. This particular Starbucks attracts fanatical patrons who act as if they drink Kool-Aid rather than coffee. There is always a long, painful line of people wearing suits.

A Starbucks employee with a trendy buzzcut and a headset approaches two giggly young ladies who preceded me in line. This employee’s job is to take drink orders from customers as they wait in line for the cashier. This speeds up service, lest some guy who is late for a meeting someday freaks out and kills everyone. “That’s a Grande Skim Sugar-free Extra Hot Caramel Macchiato and a Iced Venti Soy Tazo Chai,” she said into her headset, and then moved onto me. “What will you be having today?”

I squinted at the menu like a lame Starbucks bumpkin and began piecing together random buzzwords that my eyes gleaned. “I’ll have a latte… skinny… mocha… tall?” I said. “Tall skinny mocha!” she piped into her headset, then pointed me over to the cashier, who demanded $3.83, which seemed entirely reasonable.

I crowded into the small drink pick-up area, where an awkward ad-hoc assemblage of people stared glumly at the bottleneck: One grand old lady in an orange fur coat who ordered five drinks that all came out wrong. She spoke to the baristas as if they were someone else’s servants. Then, stunned, “There’s not a tray that can hold five cups?”

My Tall Skinny Mocha is of the new line of “skinny” drinks that boasts “sugar-free syrup, perfectly steamed nonfat milk, and a dash of foam”. (There is an infamous letter to Starbucks brass from insubordinate barista, who points out that “skinny” is politically incorrect, and that the sudden change in terminology will cause “miscommunication between customers and partners, partners calling drinks and partners making drinks, and partners making drinks calling the drinks to the customers waiting to receive their drinks.” In order words, total fucking chaos.)

The tall skinny mocha carries a discernible, genuine chocolate flavor, but where’s the coffee? The chalky aftertaste turned me off, and halfway through, I put it aside and forgot about it. This morning I arrived at work to find the Starbucks cup still on my desk, cold remnants of the 4-dollar drink taunting me with its worthlessness.