Here's the thing. At home, I drink my coffee black. We buy decent beans, and grind them fresh each morning, and drip perfectly hot water through the freshly ground beans, into a thermal carafe, and usually, two cups of that magic is all I need for the rest of the day.
What this means is that I only infrequently drink coffee out of the house. And for whatever reason, I almost never drink it black when I'm not home. It's just one of those things - if I don't know where the coffee came from, it needs milk.
There are delis all over New York. You go in, you ask for coffee/regular/no sugar, and you get a paper cup of coffee with milk in it. But, you go to some fancy place like Starbucks, and you ask for a cup of coffee, and they hand you a cup and expect you to put the milk in yourself. If you insist, the better establishments will bow to the gods of customer service and will, in fact, add the milk.
I have, by the way, complained about this before:
Well, if I ask for a cup of coffee with milk, put the milk in the coffee. Don't make me do it. Don't make me put all my bags down on the dirty floor, let go of my child's hand, wrench the lid off the top, locate the milk and unscrew its top, add milk (after spilling out some of the coffee), replace the lid, and gather up all my possessions.
And, lest you say that "everyone wants a different amount of milk", 1) you add the milk if I go through a drive-through, and 2) you put in the milk when you make a latte.
The other day, I was in Grand Central, heading for the train, and the need for a cup of coffee and a cookie swayed me into Joe. The woman behind the counter gave me attitude when I asked for milk, but did it, grudgingly, and then had the temerity to hand me a cup without a lid. This is a take-out joint, in a commuter rail station! No lid? Oy. The lids were across the shop, with the milk, and of course, they were organized by ounces - and the first one I picked up was the wrong size. I ask you, how am I to know how many ounces are in the cup and therefore which lid might be right?
When I finally got on the train, peeved beyond a reasonable doubt, I fired off an irritated tweet. I was, of course, hoping it would fall on gracious customer-is-always-right ears, but no! Snark was returned.
Bastards. Coffee with milk is in no way comparable to french fries with ketchup, and this attitude stands in complete opposition to their "dedicated to making flawless coffee served with warm hospitality" mission statement. There was no warm hospitality at all - either in the shop or on the Twitter.
I'm never going there again. Lord knows, a one person boycott isn't gonna do squat, but I can keep railing about it. Even if nothing happens, it makes me feel better.