Your Friends Are Not Empty Calories

#Jay

On a fragrant hot afternoon, my friends and I decided to stop over the Starbucks counter for a fix of its one-for-one's. I don't usually drink there, but I am a sucker for flash promos. Our eyes slitted at the menu as we pandered to our options before settling for each of its latest offer: Orange Honey Comb Crunch and Triple Coffee topped off with jelly- it's chin chou. They didn't sound delicious in name, nor looked as tangy or as jelly in print, but we married up nicely for it anyway. The barista had a cocksure look, cocking his head with a marker perched in one hand. He asked for our names, ready to mark our cups like a professional script artist. So when it got to my turn, I decided to throw him a curveball, "Amanda and Jay please- Jay, with a hashtag."

"O-Okay." His cool was lost on him by the time he stuttered.

"#Jay" had nothing to do with awkward baristas. It was an inside joke I felt familiar in sharing a laugh with my friends, which wasn't a very funny one in the first place. Though I won't distract with details like the other butt stupid things we flippantly do among those bantering during class hours, doodling lame caricatures on each other's steno pads, or stealing each other's pens (that I also never return), it was also a quip that'll probably live on as an anecdote for future round table chatters. Later, in that hour as we gathered, paced ourselves with the fraps, and drank in the calm, cool, collected interior of the coffee shop, I cracked up at something awfully funny, somewhere in between, and the rest of our time spent hence became a boisterous happening.

While our drinks may have been a letdown since it barely hit the tarty notes per advertised, my behaviour could have been poorer. I probably behaved like a fool, at that moment, when I wasn't acting my age. Had the jokes not ceased by the time we had to leave, I would probably have been asked to. In its brief hour, I felt like I was in a simpler time with a group of people I'm safe with. My friendship with the people I spend most of my work week with revealed a public affair where I'm allowed to be silly. And unlike those that we grow up from too quickly, mine still has childhood spunk that does not wither with age; however, it brings me back to its embrace.

It's the simpler times that tugs at our heartstrings. Then, good times spent were less contrived, less convoluted. Play time meant being crazy, not tipsy. Therefore, anything that simulates the same amount of fun that makes us go along with a certain degree of courage at being our stupid selves again should be applauded for. Funny, I almost forgot what it felt like to laugh today. Today, in an adult world, I guess the politically correct thing to do would be to wear a suit of seriousness, in which jokes should be kept clever. Crassness has no merit, a form of decorum between two people should be maintained, and anything below dirty bar jokes is considered immature, or even, God forbid, "lame". While being cool comes with a greater reponsibility that I'd have to behave aloofly with a steely exterior to upkeep its image, I was beginning to wonder if my image generation, one that has conscientiously worked so hard for to portray a teasing smart look, has much to live for if we were to all but play by its rules, in the first place. Have we forgotten, thus, how embarrassing, carefree, and careless we were before being introduced this sinuous path that is to be adulthood? Where's the fun if we were to grow up too quickly? Why grow up, for a lack of better phrasing, if we could still be happily stupid?

Friends don't let friends count their calories. They count the dollars saved when one promotion begins. And in a way, I would have its marketing acumen to thank for because it opens people up to continuously reach out for that one cheapo friend you can count on to share a drink with- and spend a great time over. Starbucks, which understands this cheap thrill, has my gratitude. Because like happiness, my friendships are saccharine and I'm its sucker.