How to short-circuit a Starbucks barista

Before I begin this dissertation on liquid math, let's be clear: I technically flunked algebra twice in high school (along with Spanish 1 and crafts). I am the kind of person that makes men feel secure in their smug assumptions about the spatial aptitude of the fairer sex. I used to cry during timed math tests. I had to be taught to tie my shoes in a special way even, tying two loops together, because I couldn't grasp the spatial mechanics of the traditional way. I am proud of none of these facts, but they are true.

I do know one thing, however, and that is the approximate fluid ounce volume of your traditional series of food service paper coffee cups. They are sized thusly. Starbucks baristas, take note: 8 oz. 12 oz. 16 oz. There is also one that apparently tops out at 20-something oz. You probably know this as a "Venti," inexplicably popular with teenaged girls (whose stomach capacity probably remains under 20 oz when empty. Where do they put the rest of it?).

Starbucks, as everyone knows, has done away with the fuzzy math, and given friendly if optimistic names to the traditional coffee cup sizes, legendarily upsizing a regular 12-oz to a "tall," in a leap of logic that puzzles most people not in the slightest. But before I dissolve into an Andy Rooney style dissertation about corporate logic, let me return to my point about the baristas, and how you can easily short circuit one by knowing the hidden mathematical mechanics behind the friendly cup size names.

Several times in recent years, I have, while at Starbucks, ordered an 8-oz coffee, rudely referred to as a "short," and not appearing even as an option on the menu board. It is possible that many baristas may not even know this elusive size by its condescending handle, so rare is it that anyone orders one. But taking this further, try ordering one by its fluid ounce volume. You are likely to enjoy the following exchange.

You: "I'll have an 8 oz drip."
Bright-faced young person in green apron: "Um. You mean a tall?"
You: "Uh, no, an 8 oz. That cup right there."
BFYPiGA: "Oh, well, uh, you mean a... [wracking brain for term] a short? Right, that's 6 ounces."
You: "That would be one small cup of coffee."
BFYPiGA: "So you want a 6 oz."
You: "Well, the short... it's... it's 8 ounces."
BFYPiGA: "Are you serious? [turns to co-worker]. Kyra did you know that it was 8 ounces? I've worked here for like a year and I totally didn't know that."

I have had some version of this conversation with more than one barista, leading me to believe that Starbucks deliberately endeavors to divorce all association between liquid volume and friendly cup names in its paid workforce, and maybe the public at large. I would go on but I realize that this is so much like something Andy Rooney would discuss on 60 Minutes, that it is time to stop now.