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I alter the order and tell her the new price. She pays, dumps the change and five golden dollars into the tip box. | write the order on the venti cup and pass it silently to the girl working the hot beverage station. Normally we called and pass, but this was ... not something to be spoken aloud. My fellow takes the cup, not thinking anything of the minor break with protocol, until she sees the order. She stares at me. “No> My fellow barista pales before her task. But we are dutiful, we are true to our task, great though it may be. She sets about clearing the two brand new Mastrena’s of all distraction, and sets two tall cups in the ready position. The energy packet is emptied into the venti cup, and the shots begin pouring. Ourvisiting Incomprehensible takes it to our milk bar and adds a dollop of cream. Satisfied, she proceeds to down what must have been half the damn cup. Then she smiled at us, like a benediction and | was honestly filled with joy. And horror. She left, and we knew nothing more of her after that. When | talk with other former employees, we quickly begin talking about *The Company” as if we'd never left, perhaps knowing that part of our soul still powers that awesome and terrible corporate machine. And when | share this story, other Baristas at first act shocked but quickly settle and comes the chorus, “Yeah, I had one like that.”