Starbucks: The Siren's Song

Starbucks holds a special place in my heart. It's where, going on 15 years ago, I fell in love. At the time, I didn't drink coffee. But my boyfriend was a new barista and wooed me with hazelnut steamed milks and sweet pastries. He encouraged me to move onto the "not too coffee-intense" Caramel Macchiatos. And then, whirling with caffeine and crushes, I was hooked.

I loved it so much, I wound up employed by the company for a couple of years as a barista. (I've since graduated away from sticky-sweet drinks and into the standard Americano - tall, half-full, with a splash of cream.)

Sure, the company has let me down. They've made poor business (and non-business - ahem, Sonics) decisions. They've gone in odd directions, been blasted innumerable times for their snootiness, and messed up my drink a few dozen times. But even when my (now) husband was laid off after 12 years of employment, I didn't quit.

Much of my experience centers around nostalgia: We spent many dates there in our early courtship (at a 30% discount, why not)? Many trips - domestic and international - also involve Starbucks memories (how fun to be hopped up on java while tooling around Seville or San Francisco).

But it's also about the product: No matter where I am in the world, I know that a Starbucks will provide me a consistent drink, sometimes a to-go meal, and a smile.

That siren has rooted her way into my heart.