Any feedback/comments/criticism is greatly appreciated!
Prompt: Write page 217 of your 300 page autobiography.
"I'll have a Iced White Chocolate Mocha. The name is Boris." I say in my best Russian accent.
"I'll have a Venti Caffe Americano. The name is Wickus." I say in my finest South African accent.
Everytime I go to Starbucks, I order under a different name. I get to take off my shoes and borrow somebody else's in the world for a couple of minutes. The rush of exhilaration causes my heart to pump louder and louder, faster and faster everytime I do it. I feel mischievous that I'm telling a boldfaced lie right to the cashier even though it's just a little, harmless lie. I feel like a little boy who had an extra cookie at lunch. A harmless act but to the boy it feels like the naughtiest thing in the world.
Why do I do it? What's the point? It's fun. It's challenging. You have to change your accent. You have to become another person. You have to embody another culture. All without giving the slightest sign of amusement otherwise your cover will be blown.
On December 12th, 2006 I chose to be Edward Harris, a British lad from Liverpool. I made smalltalk with the cashier about how I was just visiting America for a couple days and that I love to play Cricket with my mates after school.
"Have a nice day!" the cashier said while handing me my Caramel Frappachino.
"Cheers," I replied, with a smirk on my face.