The Price of Entitlement: A Humorous Tale of Patience, Toast, and Life Lessons
I was 28, at the prime age of finally understanding that adulthood was just a never-ending stream of bills, unsolicited advice, and a series of awkward encounters that kept me humble. One fine Tuesday afternoon, I found myself at a posh café, ordering the most complicated coffee on the menu—because, of course, I deserved it.
The barista, a cheerful college student with a bright future and a name tag that read “Sky,” was about to hand me my oat milk, extra foam, half-caff, caramel drizzle latte when disaster struck. A new, very important item caught my eye—a limited edition avocado toast with truffle oil, priced as if it were plated in gold. Naturally, I decided I had to have it.
“Excuse me,” I said with all the confidence of someone who still thought their student discount card would work. “I’d like to add the toast to my order.”
Sky smiled and said, “Sure, but you’ll have to wait in line again.” She gestured toward a line of impatient, under-caffeinated people stretching to the door.
Now, in my mind, I was a VIP. I mean, I was already at the counter, right? Why couldn’t they just slap the avocado toast on my tab and call it a day? I sighed dramatically, raising an eyebrow in a way I hoped would convey both authority and mild annoyance.
“Can’t you just… you know, make an exception?” I asked, because rules are just suggestions when you’re hangry.
Sky hesitated, then kindly but firmly said, “Sorry, we have a system.” The line shuffled forward, glaring at me like I was the reason their mornings were off to a rocky start.
I, however, took the initiative—by sulking off to the back of the line. I fumed as the minutes ticked by, watching people who had been behind me getting their orders and leaving. When I finally reached the front again, I ordered that overpriced toast with the sort of satisfaction one might get from climbing Everest.
The toast, when it arrived, was as fancy and pretentious as advertised. But here’s the kicker: it tasted… fine. Not life-changing, just fine. I had wasted twenty extra minutes and paid an absurd amount for something I could’ve made at home for a fraction of the price.
The consequence was immediate: I was late for a meeting, flustered, and $18 poorer. But the real lesson? Entitlement gets you nowhere, except maybe to the back of the line twice. Sometimes, playing by the rules is faster—and significantly less embarrassing—than trying to bend them.
As for Sky, she served my order with a smile that said, “I told you so,” without needing to utter a word. The moral? Don’t let the allure of fancy toast lead you astray, and always respect the line—even when you think you’re too important for it.
