Cleary Squared goes to the new Staples in Roslindale Square, reports that if it wants to retain any customers on the weekends, it's going to have to instill some pride in the sullen, put-upon teens apparently running the place on Saturdays and Sundays.

Dan Miller reports he only goes to the School Street Starbucks because he needs his morning coffee, not because he enjoys "being held hostage by the designated drink maker, who thinks he's Tom Cruise in 'Cocktail.'"

The Missus reports the guy behind her today at Starbucks ordered his "usual" - six shots of espresso with "a little bit of ice."

Cosmo Catalano explains why the Starbucks on Church Street in Harvard Square sucks while the one on Newbury Street in the Back Bay between Dartmouth and Exeter is just divine. It's all in the baristas they hire.

In particular, wearing a gold lame sweater, stirrup pants, and ankle-high patent leather stilettos as you practice a salsa dance.

I suspect your reaction to Endangered Coffee's report will depend on whether you have a kid:

All in all, the incident ended badly, although it could have been much worse. I had to talk Mrs. EC from running back into the Starbucks with her dark roast and my cappuccino and dumping them on the floor. I had to convince her that there was such a crime as creating a disturbance that could have conceivably led to her, me and [Baby] EC ending up in the slammer. As it was, the incident ended with the Mrs. calling a Starbucks employee a f#@$@%! b%^&$ as we headed out the door and me lugging [Baby] EC behind her, yelling that I was going to let him piss in their cappuccino machine. ...

The baristas think way too much.

Via Cleary Squared.

Jimbo has the (dark roasted) scoop.

The Missus gets right to the point:

... What the hell is wrong with you people? ...

Actually, she uses some choicer words to roast them, and provides photographic proof of their suckatude.

Sure, laugh all you want about brown-tinged swill or 17 sugahs or trans fats or that smirking Joker lookalike known as Rachael Ray, at least I never have to worry about being sneered at by some barista with an overendowed sense of importance who so cows me that I vow to get what he wants me to next time, that is, if I can ever summon up the courage to step foot in his store again.

... "Here's your ICED venti americano," he says, with a look of revulsion. ...