I was dead tired. It would be two more hours until I would even be able to get off the… I was dead tired. It would be two more hours until I would even be able to get off the turnpike. So, I went to a rest area and paused in front of a Starbucks kiosk. I walked up to it and said, “I’d like a venti, vanilla Frappuccino with a shot of espresso.” Then, I realized what I’d just said and how I’d just said it.

I managed to pay for my drink and make it to my car before flagellating myself. The shame. The horrible, horrible shame. Fortunately, the self-inflicted wounds kept me alert enough to make it home physically safe, though spiritually shattered.

I’ve ordered from Starbucks before. It’s just that I have a policy when ordering. I make certain not to use the cute Italian phrases when selecting my drink’s size. I carefully stumble over all my words, and when possible, mispronounce something.

Nothing, not money, not sex, not rock-god stardom, not literary immortality – not even a “Babylon 5” guest appearance could have made me order like that voluntarily. I was exhausted and it just slipped out.

It’s those slips that define us. They let us see the ways we’ve been infiltrated by all those things from which we’d hoped to be free. The part-time jobs, the bad days on the bus, those comments that weren’t meant for anyone else to hear – even 2 a.m. coffee orders, they all count.

Life was much simpler when the world was only full of soulless sell-outs, pagans praying to pervert honest agnostics, Gnostic poets prying monotony from haggard language, barbarians too ignorant to kneel to “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” fans, girls who swayed while females stumbled, television-bound, beer-drinking Bambi killers, fire worshipping drug dealers five days from 25 to life and me.

Sometime between mocking my high school’s graduation ceremony and settling on my major, I noticed that at one time or another I’ve sold out, perverted the honest, pried away a bit of monotony, been far too ignorant, seen graceful women trip, spent too much time alone with my television and worshipped flames as they flickered out. And now I’ve ordered a venti, vanilla Frappuccino with a shot of espresso.

Those moments when we speak someone else’s words, unintentionally compromise out of convenience, split ideals and action into dreams and reality, avoid quiet truths while seeking out sonorous beliefs that deafen us for just one more day – it’s precisely then that we allow ourselves to sink into being the kind of apathetic titans that squander possibility and invite joylessness in for tea.

Skip some classes, kill a few brain cells, enjoy yuppie shopping centers, sleep in IKEA beds, flick a stranger off for no reason whatsoever, watch an entire season of “Alias” in a day and a half, shop at Wal-Mart. Just balance it out a bit.

We can’t be perpetually vigilant. Sin, sleep and faux sophistication are inevitable. Just make damn sure that you’re trying to be aware of it all. Otherwise, you could end up in a nursing home wishing for a Frappuccino and a revelation.

E-mail Zak Sharif at [email protected] to tell him your favorite Starbucks drink and promise never to order it again.