Where everybody knows my name.

Today, at my normal coffeeshop where I go to work from "home" (when actual home gets too quiet), the barista called me by name. Of course, it was in the context of, "Kate, I forgot all about you!" because I went up to the counter to check on the status of my drink about 20 minutes after I ordered it. But still, he knows me! I think this means I need to start tipping more. (Here's a question--my normal Americano is exactly $2. What should I do? I feel like a whole dollar tip is too much. But I am REALLY loath to tip with change, because I need quarters for laundry and other change for the bus. Help me out, frequent coffee drinkers.)

For some reason, I love to be associated with things (uh, like drinks). At the bar at my school, there was a drink called the "Winne." (You might still be able to get this! I think it was written on an index card in the drink rolodex behind the bar. To be fair, I was kind of dating a bartender who worked there, so I don't think most patrons got their own drinks.) I probably wouldn't like the Winne much now--it was pretty "girly," involving fruit juices and coconut rum (I was a Malibu fiend in college--another bartender there would make me a Malibu and Diet Coke as soon as he saw me walk in), but still, it was mine.

This whole thing is making me realize that perhaps I should focus more on recognition for coffee drinks and less on alcoholic drinks in the future. You know, in the interest of my liver and all.