I felt my blood boil. The barista didn’t even look up, just punched in the order with another sigh like helping her was a burden. I couldn’t stay quiet. "EXCUSE ME?" I said, loud enough for the whole café to hear. "You’ll happily take a complicated order from someone asking for a venti oat milk matcha with extra caramel, upside-down, but she’s the problem?" The café went SILENT. The Latina mom looked at me, eyes wide, like she wasn’t used to anyone standing up for her. ⬇️