Among Barnes & Noble’s many great features — comfy chairs, puzzles and games, CDs, Nooks, even a few books — one of the best is the Starbucks café.
It’s warm, welcoming, and highly caffeinated.
The other evening, I bought a coffee. (Regular. Small. Sorry, I don’t speak “Starbucks.”)
But when I went to pay with my Starbucks card, the woman baristette recoiled like I had handed her some used Dunkin Donuts toilet paper.
“This is not a Starbucks!” she said, coldly.
WTF?
“It’s a Barnes & Noble!” she explained, in a tone I would use with a dog that had just soiled my Persian rug, if I owned either one.
My bad! I can’t for the life of me imagine why I ever thought I was in a Starbucks.
