No frontin', yo

I seem to have developed quite a coffee habit over the last couple of months. In the morning, I hit Dunkin' Donuts for a large iced coffee with cream and sugar. After school, I visit Starbucks for a Venti Iced Caffe Mocha. I have two Starbucks' that I frequent: one is a stand-alone boutique, the other is a part of Target, my favorite superstore. The boutique has a more upscale zip code, while the Target accommodates all the plebeans who are already frequenting the store, browsing for automobile accessories or a new set of placemats. Consequently, or so it seems, the baristas are distributed according to their social strata.

At the suburban Starbucks close to my house, the baristas are all white, anal-retentive ("Oh my God, Margie, would you look at the state of this coffee display? They've mixed the espresso with the decaf - what were they thinking?"), and just a bit bitchy snippy if you don't order your drink correctly. I stand up straight with a carefully blank face while I listen surreptitiously as they crab about this, that, or the other. Politely, I smile when they shove my finished drink at me with a "there you go, hon'."

At Target, where I go when I'm running late to pick up Miss Peanut, or if I need to shop for anything, the baristas are all black, low-key, and entertaining as hell. I join in on their conversations about men ("Girl, you know he be cheatin'!"), supervisors from hell, or life in general. We all giggle together. They know my order, as I'm a creature of habit, and I get outstanding service.

Yesterday, when I bellied up to the counter at Target, there was a trainee who looked as confused as a piglet in the hen house. The regular barista appeared to be harassed and overburdened as she went about the process of training the new hire. Seeing me, she grinned and waved, saying to the trainee "Look, child, just follow the instructions on my card while I get my homegirl her drink." I could feel the smile on my face start to swallow my chin.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have arrived. I am somebody's homegirl. I felt like I was given an all-access pass to the Sista's club, with the option of hanging out with the cast of Girlfriends. I was thrilled. Move over Mo'Nique, because Bro'Nwen's in the house, representin' for the thick sistas. Why? Because I'm a homegirl.