By: Michelle Young, Co-Editor-in-Chief
I will not say chai tea, I will not say chai tea, I will not say chai tea. I chant in my head as I approach the barista. If I say “chai tea,” she will frown upon me with disdain because I will be ordering “tea tea.” I will sound uneducated and uncultured. The line thins in front of me, and my turn is approaching. I am sweating. “Hello,” I say in my most cheerful tone of voice to indicate that I am a friendly person. “Can I have a chai tea latte with oat milk?” I gasp. My eyes enlarge, I scan her face, in anticipation of reaction to my foolish ways because I just ordered “tea tea.”
As she punches in the order without a word, eyes bulging, I can hear her screaming inside, thinking to herself, “Would you order a café coffee latte milk?! Ridiculous!” I can feel her aura completely change, darkness emanating off her body and clouding the air with each tap. When she looks back up, I’m crushed by the weight of her judgemental stare. I move to the side of the counter, in shame, waiting for my drink.
On the counter, miniature spirits of a Buddhist monk, King Harshavardhana, and Emperor Ashoka materialize before me. “How dare you insult my creation?!” Harshavardhana shrieked. Not only was my poor barista judging me, but now I was being haunted. Emperor Ashoka began waving his arms, “Chai latte isn’t even South Asian. It was popularized by Starbucks! Not only do you ask for tea tea, but you add milk to it!” Harshavardhana began, “If you add milk to chai, you will never be able to stay awake during your long hours in court — as I originally intended! You will dilute the chai!” Appearing very concerned, the monk added, “Those who earn their living by . . . destroying the environment, exploiting nature and people, or producing items that bring us toxins may earn a lot of money but they are practising wrong livelihood. We have to be mindful of protecting ourselves from their wrong action.”
Holding a rag, a giant hand smacks all the spirits away. I continue waiting. Silence. They are rebelling against my ignorance. They are ignoring me for ordering a “tea tea.” Perhaps it’s better this way. I can leave and pretend none of this ever happened. I turn away, until a voice booms, “Excuse me!” I turn around to find a tall man with a beautifully groomed beard. “I am so sorry miss, I think we misplaced your order. What was it?” I start sweating profusely. I have to say it again?! The “tea tea?!” Now my eyes are bulging. The cashier stares at me. She’s giving me another chance. I breathe deeply, thinking I should make the spirits proud. I will say it properly, “A chai tea latte.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Tears begin welling up inside me. “Of course,” he smiles, taking a warm cup from the side and giving it to me. “Enjoy!” Carefully taking my drink, I rush out of the café, with no intention of returning after such an embarrassing ordeal. I sip the frothy tip of the cup, and warmth spills into me. The perfect balance of sweet, spice, and a creamy texture.
Perhaps . . . I will come again . . .
