The infamous Pumpkin Spice Latte made its return to Starbucks over a month ago, a bit earlier than usual. I, having avoided the beverage since it was introduced 17 years ago, decided that, due to the state of the world (a global pandemic and massive wildfires in my home-state), I might not get a chance to try the beverage ever again. If 2020 ends in an apocalypse, I would’ve died having never tasted that glorious amalgamation of autumnal spices that millions of basic white women enjoy each fall. I, being a white woman myself, was finally prepared to consume the drink of my people.
Well, I tried the drink one week ago… and I literally died. No, like literally.
After procuring the cup of steaming hot pumpkin java, I stood outside my local Starbucks, lowered my mask, and sipped the top layer of foam ever so gently.
Wow! What are these spices? Why does it complement the flavor of coffee so perfectly? How have I been living without this for so long?!
And then, all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.
I gasped for air. My hand began violently shaking, latte splattering everywhere. Pain radiated from my chest. I couldn’t stand up. The world swirled around me and my legs buckled until- SMACK. I hit the pavement, sending the latte flying overhead. It came crashing down on me from above, but I could not feel the boiling lava-hot coffee on my skin at that point. I was already gone.
When you die, your spirit separates from your body, becoming a fuzzy, sparkling ball of light, the color of which encapsulates your aura. So there I was, a puddle of pumpkin spice, my physical body crumpled on the pavement outside of Starbucks while my glowing, (aptly) burnt-orange spirit levitated upwards, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next.
After the accident, I floated around to make sure that somebody discovered my dead body. The ambulance eventually came and wheeled me away to the morgue; it turns out I was severely allergic to clover. No wonder I had avoided the Pumpkin Spice Latte for so long.
It’s not all bad, being dead. Do I wish I would’ve taken one last sip of Pumpkin Spice Latte before I died? Yes. When you’re dead, you can’t taste anything. However, I do have some big, exciting plans for the fall season. I plan on spending the next month perfecting my spooks and scares before Halloween comes. As a fizzing orb of burnt-orange light, I’ve had some difficulty managing my motor skills this first week of being dead. It turns out people can’t see or hear me; however, I can do cool things like move through walls, and if I whoosh by fast enough, it generates an ominous breeze. People really hate that. “Is there a draft in here?” they’ll ask themselves, then shudder when they realize all of the windows in the house are closed.
I haven’t found any other fizzing orbs of light, but if I do, I hope they can teach me some fun tricks. Maybe we can team up during Halloween and generate some spooks and scares. If any other spirits are reading this, I’d love to hear from you! Any tips on what I’m supposed to do now that I’m dead are greatly appreciated.
To all of the mortals out there, I advise you to triple check whether or not you’re allergic to cinnamon, nutmeg, or clove before trying a Pumpkin Spice Latte.