I'll admit that I'm a coffee snob. But I might not be the kind of snob that comes to your mind when you hear the words "coffee snob." Sure, I dislike Folger's, Arco, Maxwell House and the like, preferring the fresh-ground gourmet coffees whenever I can get them. But I've been known to suck back the freeze-dried swill on occasion, and if I'm in a diner I'm not going to forgo the coffee just because it's an old-person blend that comes packed in a can.

No, it's another, lamer, stickier kind of coffee that I hate. I hate specialty coffee drinks. And I hate them with every rapidly twitching cell in my nervous system.

Last time I was at a coffee shop, I found myself standing in a long line, behind and in front of massive pods of specialty-coffee drinkers. "ARE YOU PUTTING WHIPPED CREAM ON THAT?" the woman in front of me repeatedly screamed at the barista, clutching a cinnimon roll that was approximately the size of the average Bundt cake. "MAKE SURE YOU PUT PLENTY OF WHIPPED CREAM ON THAT!" Meanwhile, the women behind me clucked and cooed about the yogurt parfaits.

All I wanted was a goddammed cup of coffee. Black. To go.

More and more, baristas pause and look confused when you order plain coffee at a coffee shop. You want ... oh, ok. I think we have some of that ... let me check with the manager. He has the keys to the regular coffee urn.

I wish there was a coffee shop in town that just served regular (albeit fresh and good) coffee. There would be no desserts, and the coffee would cost 50 cents instead of four bucks. If you asked for anything else, they'd belittle you until you left in shame.

Someone would come in and say, "Can I get a snickerdoodle latte with extra ..."

"Listen," the barista would say. "Right now you should ask yourself, 'Do I really want to be that guy?' Because I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you're not that guy. Even though, right now, you're acting a lot like you're that guy. Now let's try this again. What do you want?"

I've been to bars out in the woods where the only thing they serve is Bud, Bud Light, and Seagram's 7 whiskey. If you ask for a gin and tonic, they'll laugh in your face. If you ask for a vodka and cranberry, they'll grab you by the back of your neck and haul you out the door. If you ask for a cosmopolitan, they'll reach under the bar and pull out the shotgun. I kind of like those places.

Coffee shops need to employ this business model. I'd go every day.