Daniel is my man. More accurately, he's a barista at my local Starbucks. But for about five minutes every weekday morning, he is mine, all mine.
When everything else is going haywire - dogs, husband, morning routine, emotional 5-year old, traffic, whatever - I can always count on Daniel.
He recognizes the crimson steed as we stampede into the parking lot and he always starts my drink, sometimes before we get in the door. My drink is an easy one, and sometimes when the stars align and the other customers aren't paying close attention, he'll make my drink out of order, jumping me in line before others with their fancy schmancy frozen frappucinos or those silly drinks that take foam or steamed milk or sprinkles and such.
He's fast and he's accurate - my drink is always perfect, with sugar free syrup and skim milk, a little room at the top so I don't squirt coffee all over the place, just the way I like it. He's polite but not overly chatty, he acknowledges that I tip well, and he's nice to LittleG.
For that, I love him. I don't know much about him besides he is a 20-something blond haired kid. He is in school and goes to church. Beyond that, I've got nothing. And pretty much all he knows about me is my name, my kid's name, what I drink, and what I drive. And you know what, that is just fine with me.
I cannot tell you more about him, because I fear you will search him out, and suddenly, I will have to compete with other consumers for Daniel's attention. And I'm just not willing to do that.
So go get your own Starbucks Guy. Daniel is mine! At least for about 5 minutes around 7:30 in the morning.....