The world is shocked. The press is afire. But for those of us who have marched up and down Fleet Street daily for some time now, this is news we had been expecting all along: A baby Starbucks was seen frisking on the road in the early hours of this morning.
Picture this: Five Starbucks outlets on a kilometre-long stretch, practically across the road from each other. All of them have been vacationing for over ten days now. The street has been empty because offices are shut and there are hardly any shops that are offering Ferraris free with chaddis as part of their Boxing Day sales. The Starbucks get cosy and there’s nobody to stop them. It’s Christmas. The season for freaky birth stories.
Some conservative Londoners are shocked at the incident (further research will soon reveal that they are not Londoners but software engineers from India on training tours of London). Tourists are clicking pictures with their tiny Japanese cameras, and some are walking up to the baby and demanding a mocha with cream on top, and an apple and cinnamon muffin to go with it.
Starbucks Corp. is excited about the news. They had already lost track of how many outlets they had, and they have issued a statement saying that they have “finally found a good explanation for why there are no cinnamon croissants in the Starbucks you’re visiting: It’s a newborn Starbucks and is yet to flag down a delivery truck.” Mama and Papa Starbucks are so proud of their little one that they are giving out free espresso-flavoured pacifiers to all those who pay over ten pounds by card. They’re also closing down sooner, about two hours after they open, so that they can take care of the baby and teach the staff how to spray cleaning fluid on the shelves of food without letting the chemicals seep in.
Some doomsday prophets predict the end of humankind as we know it, and are fearing the annihilation of all other commercial establishments. They have been requested to keep their mouths shut, and to (please) pass the nutmeg powder.