Thursday, January 8, 2015


I don't think my name is a particularly complicated one, or perhaps I don't enunciate well enough (as evidenced by the times I got "Lacey, Chasye, Jesa," etc. on my cups--if you follow me on Instagram, you'll know the struggle), but I literally spelled out my name this morning for the Starbucks barista: "Traci. T-R-A-C-I."


"No no," I interrupted. "T-R-A--"

He tried again. "T...R...E..."

Here's the thing about this morning: I was already really agitated because some guy had rammed a trolley cart into me when I was getting off the elevator, leaving a nasty bruise on my left ankle, so I was already not having a great start to the day. "T-R-A-C-I!" I practically shouted, in case the noise from around us was getting in the way.

The barista scribbled something quickly and passed the cup along. I paid, and moved down the counter to wait for my drink.

And then I got my cup:

I mean. Close enough...?

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