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Of course, there are a few archetypal coffee-drinkers these scenarios ignore: the alcoholic replacing one addiction with a new, less debilitating one; the homeless person who can only afford a cup of coffee instead of a full meal; the working stiff continuously jump-starting himself with caffeine throughout a long tedious workday. In omitting these types from its list of scenarios, Starbucks means no disservice to them; in order to present the strongest possible colonialist message, it's simply more effective to depict javaphiles as successful, assertive, and in control of their lives. The characters limned in the article meet these criteria; they can afford the best coffee the world has to offer, and they don't want to have to wait for it. Fueled by assumption and impatience--which, with refreshing candor, are cast here as the virtues they truly are--these characters form an economically privileged, leisure-pursuing elite: their ability to purchase espresso machines for their own personal use signifies their membership in this group.

Offering a striking counterpoint to the coffee-drinkers are the bean-serfs: the brochure in which they appear is entitled "Starbucks and CARE: Giving back to those who give us great coffee." Its copy identifies Starbucks as the largest corporate donor to CARE, and details the efforts the company is making through that organization to make life better in the world's coffee-growing regions. While the ultimate goal of this brochure is to promote feelings of superiority and entitlement in coffee-drinkers, the copy's tone is one of concern, respect, and benevolence toward the bean-serfs: Starbucks is providing these important members of their "global community" with running water, educational materials, health materials, and other donations designed to improve their health and autonomy. How could even the most sanguinary bleeding heart object to that?