I mean, vanilla?

Location: Las Vegas International Airport.

I have an hour to wait for my next flight and decide to forego the annoying ching-ching of the slot machines for a caramel macchiato and free in-flight cheese nips (I mean, in the airport? Really? When is the last time you heard "I hit the jackpot in the C terminal!!"?) Sidenote: Southwest airlines should get some kind of snack award for doing away with nasty pretzel concoctions. As I'm waiting to order a woman walks up with a baby bottle in her hand, and out of the corner of my eye I catch the look on her face that people use when they really want to go in front of you but don't actually have a really good reason for it other than the fact they feel entitled to do so. Whatever lady. This is Starbucks, and you already have milk in the bottle. Your baby is probably on its 3rd bottle for the day and I have yet to touch an espresso to my lips so I can't possibly understand what could be important enough to let you go ahead of me. Of course, as long as I don't actually look at her I can act totally oblivious. Which I do. And order. Yesssss.

Lady: "Excuse me, but do you think I can get a couple squirts of vanilla syrup in my bottle? I ran out of vanilla milk and I was hoping I could 'fudge' it with the flavoring."

Barista: "Uhhh...sure...I guess so!"

Me: WTF? There are only so many explanations for this.

A) The woman is a hopeless drunk and couldn't afford real liquor during her pregnancy so opted for the cheaper, bakery-aisle version. Now has to keep up facade.
B) I was wrong about Hawaii and utopia is actually being this woman's baby.
C) The woman is insane and/or retarded.
D) The baby is a genius.

Then again, it could be that I'm retarded and baby vanilla milk is the new pigskin dog chew. Nobody likes a bowel obstruction.