So it became clear that that latte wasn't going to get made anytime soon, and that she wasn't the kind of server who could ring up additional drinks (like, actual COFFEE, the kind men like) while the flaming latte did whatever it does that makes it a latte, so despite being the next person in line, I had to bail. You don't go when they call, god only knows what seat you'll get stuck in. That 6:55 train can be Lord of the Flies sometimes.
Of course, this came after a morning for which I had thought I was prepared mostly came apart, including having to hunt for my wallet, skipping breakfast, and deciding that the bottled water I keep in my truck at all times would be useless to me on the train because it wouldn't thaw out during my lifetime. So I had to take the train entirely without recourse to drink. So it goes.
You people with your lattes – you're on my list.