Opinion


A caffeine addict unburdens herself

By Sarah Ohmer

My name is Sally Hansen, and I am an anorexic Starbucks addict -- a Starburexic. It all started on a rainy Sunday afternoon of Spring 2001. I was struggling to stay awake because of partying. My eyelashes weighed down my eyelids, and my anthropology reading pounded on my conscience. I needed something to lift my spirits. Then out of the blue, my roommate walks in with a cup. It had an attractive logo on it. I instantly inquired of its contents. "White chocolate mocha," she said. It sounded too sweet to be evil.

I walked to the Satellite with an appeased conscience. The beverage would wake me up enough so I could finish my reading assignment. The experience of my first order was a little embarrassing. I wasn't sure of how to pronounce the words posted up on the Starbucks board -- there was such a vast list on the menu. My heart raced. Then a lady in front of me blurted phonemes, from English (it seemed). I couldn't understand them all. "A gron-day Iced white chocolate mowkah, please."

A cashier asked for my order before I tried to analyze the lady's foreign speech. I ordered the soothing white chocolate mocha, "large, I mean, venti." The sweet drink glided warmly down my throat, and sent a tingle up my spine. It kept me awake for a long time.

I was never a morning person. I always enjoyed deep slumber, and loathed obnoxious alarms. I could not accept adapting to morning until the reliable white chocolate mocha became a part of my routine. It helped me get down to reality faster -- and drinking a white chocolate mocha woke me up more efficiently than a cold shower.

After drinking caffeine, my grade point average spiked, along with my heart rate, and my meal plan charges. I computed some numbers one early morning around 4:23 a.m. and realized it was time to pace myself -- quickly. My meal plan was running out. Coffee was cheaper, less fattening and more efficient for energy than fast food. So it suddenly made sense to me to skip the Chick-fil-A detour and head straight for a starfix. After a while, I just ordered the cheapest drink. It was the strongest, anyway. A doppio macchiato never lets anyone down.

I had just enough meal plan funds left for five doppios each day. I lost a few pounds and I wasn't even hungry anymore. Then one morning, I found myself twitching in the double line at the Satellite. The red digital clock stared at my face, yelling "You're late!" The lower lid of my left eye beat uncontrollably against my eyeball. I couldn't stop thinking about my order. Was it ready yet? And then it hit me -- I was sick.

The beverage had lost its appeal, and only made me more tired after a while. My stomach, my bladder, my kidneys and my heart cried for help; yet I ignored my body. I didn't even like coffee. How was I ever to loop out of this caffeine-ridden cycle?

The green logos are everywhere. They want me to stay alert and addicted and I just can't turn them down. I'm scared. I'm not even cute anymore. I'm just skinny -- all because of an addiction.

Ohmer, an editorial writer for The Daily Cougar, 
can be reached at ouistitie@hotmail.com.