“The Coldwater Road Caffeine Showdown”

It was 6:47 p.m. on a Sunday. The golden hour light hit the Walmart sign just right, the kind of glow that makes you forget Coldwater Road traffic is an emotional test designed by the universe.

 

After two long days at his son’s baseball tournament in Warsaw, Kevin (dad of the year and current caffeine hostage) just wanted to get home. His son, dusty, sunburned, and blissfully oblivious in the passenger seat, said, “Dad, can we stop at Starbucks for a Refresher?”

 

Kevin surveyed the line...one white SUV. Just one. He thought, This won’t take long.

 

Famous last words.

 

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The Waiting Game

Ten minutes later, that same white SUV hadn’t moved an inch. The woman inside was holding up a pastel tumbler, then shaking her head, handing it back, then lifting another. The barista was leaning halfway out the window, juggling ceramic and stainless like a Cirque du Soleil act with caffeine dependence.

 

Kevin watched as the tumblers swapped hands again and again gradient pink, speckled mint, glossy lilac. It was like a QVC livestream for people who drive 10 under the speed limit in the left lane.

 

Finally, she seemed satisfied. Kevin relaxed. Maybe she’d ordered a single iced coffee.

 

Nope. The barista began loading up her tray: one venti caramel macchiato, a grande mocha, two Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brews, and a Strawberry Açaí Lemonade Refresher. Five drinks, five tumblers stacked like nesting dolls of regret.

 

Then came the moment that broke him.

 

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“Can you pour them into these instead?”

Kevin’s mouth fell open.

She wasn’t kidding. The woman was asking the barista to pour each drink into her brand-new tumblers.

 

The poor barista froze, holding a dripping plastic cup mid-air, eyes flicking between the car and the growing line now curling out into the Coldwater entrance. Somewhere behind Kevin, a horn honked, the first note in what would soon become a symphony of suburban rage.

 

The barista, bless her heart, started the process. Pour. Rinse. Pour again. Lids clattering. Syrup dripping. Somewhere in the distance, a baby cried.

💼 Sponsored Coffee Break by Maddison Knafel, Holistic Financial Advisor

 

While Kevin’s stuck in the world’s slowest Starbucks line, let’s remember a little patience (and a plan) goes a long way. That’s Maddison Knafel’s specialty. She helps Fort Wayne families feel more confident about their money, one simple step at a time.

☕ Because good things take time, except maybe a tumbler transfer.

Kevin’s left eye twitched. His son was whispering, “Dad, are you okay?”

 

No, son. No, he was not.

 

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The Boil Over

After 22 minutes of emotional decline, Kevin snapped. He threw the car in park, opened the door, and stomped toward the white SUV.

 

“Ma’am,” he said, his voice trembling with the weight of every Target return line he’d ever endured, “you can’t do this.”

 

She looked up, surprised but unbothered. “Do what, dear?”

 

“This isn’t a craft fair! It’s a drive-thru! You don’t browse and you definitely don’t unpack your new cups and make people pour drinks into them like it’s a tasting flight!”

 

The woman blinked, serene as a yoga instructor. “I just want my drinks the way I like them,” she said. “And these cups keep things colder.”

Behind them, a Silverado driver shouted, “LET’S GO, PEOPLE!”
The barista whispered something that sounded like “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

 

Kevin and the woman stood there, locked in a caffeine-fueled standoff, the smell of caramel drizzle hanging thick in the air. Finally, the barista handed over the last tumbler.

 

The woman smiled sweetly. “Have a blessed day,” she said, easing forward and disappearing into the Coldwater traffic.

 

Kevin stood there in disbelief, bathed in taillight glow, questioning everything. Twenty-five minutes for a trip that should’ve taken two.

When he finally reached the window, the barista gave him a pity look. “Refresher?” she asked softly.

 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “And maybe a prayer.”

 

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Final Questions for Readers:

Would you have confronted her, or just sat and stewed in silence?
Should Starbucks set a “no tumbler transfer” policy or was she within her rights to request it?

And most importantly... what’s the longest you’ve ever waited in a Fort Wayne drive-thru before losing your sanity?