It’s happened to all of us. You walk into Starbucks and order your nonfat caramel macchiato as per usual, and the barista asks for your name. You say it loudly and clearly, enunciating every syllable. Short of spelling your name for the entire store to hear, there’s really nothing more you could do to ensure proper spelling. What’s more, the majority of us have fairly straight forward names. We are the Jessicas, the Amandas, the Ashleys and the Beccas of the world. There were four of us in every second grade homeroom, 27 in the average college seminar class. People trip over us asking, “Are you Sarah B. or Sarah R.?”
Yet, lo and behold, the Starbucks barista — who was actually in your second grade homeroom, bless him — butchers the traditional spelling of your name by throwing in a rogue Y, an extra C and a misplaced K. Surely they know how there’s no Q in “Colleen”? One would hope, but you’re left clutching Qoleen’s coffee wondering where this ship ran aground.
Turns out, the answer is simple. Starbucks is fucking with you.