I cement my yuppie status several times each week by spending $7 on Starbucks coffee that I’d be embarrassed to drink in front of my friends. It may be extravagant but it beats the hell out of waiting 20 minutes in line at Tim Horton’s.

The particular Starbucks that I frequent either has a very tilted hiring policy or a statistically anomalous glut of good-looking applicants; everyone is a bit too beautiful and friendly at 8:00am. Last week I found myself being served (at the drive-through) by one of these aforementioned cute persons with suspiciously good humour.

Drive-Through Girl was bubbly and blonde about 20 years old. I was groggy, cranky, and partially hiding behind a pair of crappy CHiPs-style sunglasses. Rather than the time-honoured order-pay-leave routine, I was treated to the order-pay-strangelyinappropriatechat variant. My coffee was delivered and I was preparing to drive off when she asked if I was on my way to work. I replied in the affirmative.

“I like your sunglasses!” Thanks! They’re kind of falling apart. “We didn’t know for sure if you wanted caramel, but I put it in anyway. I can get another if you want?” No, it’s fine. No problem. “Did you go to school in Ottawa?” No, but I applied and was accepted to Ottawa University. “How do you like your satellite radio?” I sure do enjoy satellite radio…

At this point I began to seriously consider the possibility that Drive-Through Girl was flirting with me. The guy in the car behind me must have picked up on it too; he seemed to be urging me on with few wild arm flails.

A car horn crumbled our chatty momentum. Almost as quickly as it began, our fervent affair was over. “Take it easy”, I said, still bewildered by the sheer profundity of it all. “Have a good day at work!”

You too, Drive-Through Girl… You too.