So, tonight I was in line at Starbucks for my usual venti coffee—now with Splenda and Half and Half ‘coz black kawfee plays hell on my stomach—and the baristas at the espresso machine and frap blenders were already hollering at customers in line for what they wanted. The line was that long.

“That will be a fifteen minute wait for the frappucino, sir,” the barista hollered back. I gave myself my default “puzzled look.”

To my bigger bewilderment, the kindly customer replied, “that’s fine,” and stood around fidgeting in line waiting for their turn to pay for his order.

By the time the guy behind me got to the cashier, I was already seated at one of the in-store tables, enjoying a fiendishly sugary but tasty “chocolate and marshmallow bar” (which by the way has note of its walnut content, but at least this warning made it sound tasty and not dangerous) and sipping my coffee, listening: listening to the sweet sound of the barista telling folks in line that they will have to wait a sixth to a quarter of an hour standing and waiting for heart attacks in a creamy glass.

My initial jest at hearing the barista inform peeps of their wait time gave way to a mild sense of horror: there were no looks of furstration from these loyal fans of the Frap. I wouldn’t wait that long for a freaking Frap, mmkay, I told myself. Slowly shaking my head I sat back and enjoyed my pastry while I furtively snapped a shot of the line:

Tonight’s lesson? Putting a camera on the table for stability brought a lot asses into view.