The Venti Name Game

Whether or not you like Starbucks, you have to admit the word ‘ubiquitous’ seems to be the best adjective to describe the world’s greatest caffeine pusher. While the chick in front of me always orders a ‘venti latte with skim milk, shot of espresso, extra whipped cream and room for Splenda’ that requires seventeen button strikes by a distracted, clock-watching barista… I won’t go on about that. Rather, I’ll just continue to let my inner voice say ‘get a life and order a goddamn black coffee, Miss Hilton’, and let the eyes roll where they may.

So what this happens to do with running I’ll mention now. On a few overly-hot long weekend runs I’ve been known to give myself a Pavlovian treat afterwards. If you’ve ever done a mid-summer 20-miler, you know the need for a little coolness when you’re done, so sometimes I take a mortgage out on the house and buy a coffee frappachino. Mmm… liquid ice cream. Of course, yak blood would be tasty if you’re thirsty enough, but there’s something about a 180-calorie tall frappachino that is heavenly on a 90-plus degree day.

So when I finish my order, they ask me to give my name. Being a guarded New Yorker, the first response is ‘What’s it to ya?’, but I know the coffee drinks will be mixed up by even more distracted coffee elves behind the Hummer espresso machine, so I relent. I guess a take-a-number system is too complicated for these customers, and judging by the after-school special behind me, I’m not surprised. But I don’t want to give them my name, because what if some Lechter wannabe nearby ordering a Chianti Frappachino finds that out, then finds me on the internet, locates me on Google Maps, and then finds me running in the ‘10K for Polyps’, finally grabbing me as a snack at the 5 mile marker? It’s too late then to tell him my quads are not that tasty after all. All because I had to give Starbucks my name, or else no Frappachino.

So grudgingly, I give my name and… but wait! I don’t have to give my real name! As Peter Lorre used to say, ‘you eediot’ (Ren said that, too, for you younger folks) and I mentally slap my forehead. So it’s time to scramble and think of some alias that won’t cause suspicion, but also won’t get deleted from the short-term memory files before the damn frap is showing up on that little round counter at the end.

So here’s the ‘game’ part for you runners/triathletes/satan’s helpers. Instead of giving the first goofy name/phrase that pops into your head (my first few: General Peter Pace; Xaviera Hollander; Grünewald Altarpiece), give ‘em something running-related. Some ideas:

Marathon Diaper
General Marcus Gluteus Maximus
Mike Rofiber
Pasta Party!
Fu-King A. Tundreds
Brooks Adrenaline
Smokia Bitchez
Pearl Izumi
Dick Sportingoods
Gil Kayano
Nike Bightsabigwon
Point E. Sportsbraw
Fast Twitch!
...and of course, an old favorite… Heave Prefontaine.

So mix it up a little with your local barista after that long run, and yell out a name no one will forget. See if they even look up! You’ll have the joy of hearing your coffee alias spoken aloud as your drink is delivered in Starbucks location #38,016… you know, the one across from the Starbucks.