Dear Mayor Daley,

For the last year or so, the Potbelly’s on LaSalle had been selling coffee for a dollar. It’s good coffee and the cup is at least 12 ounces, maybe even 16. They originally lured me in with a sign that read something like “Remember when you could get a cup of coffee for $1?” Yes! I remember thinking. I remember. And I’m sick of these high-end joints fleecing me for over-rated brew.

Over the last year, I’ve been to PB’s at least three times a week. It’s just a short walk around the corner and I look forward to it with caffeine-deprived anticipation. I wait in line, pay my dollar (plus ten cents for tax), and get my cup of steaming-hot brew … that wasn’t made by Starbucks!

On cold winter days the joy was even greater. Some mornings I would stop in on the way to work just to warm my hands on the plain LOGO-FREE coffee cup. Ah … Freedom.

But yesterday everything changed. Yesterday, I walked into PB’s needing my usual fix. But for some reason the cashier, who usually reaches for the cup in recognition, had a distant look in her eye. Gone was the shared joy of the past year, along with every iota of familiarity. “That’s one dollar and seventy-one cents” she tells me.

“Wow! Price went up huh?” I retorted, handing over my two dollars.

The cashier nodded in a way that seemed to reciprocate my surprise, then handed me my change and my cup. The second my hand touched the cup, though, I knew something was amiss. The cup was slightly smaller. Great they’re going cheap on me!, I thought. Then I noticed the ink on the cup. PB’s coffee cups had always been a beautiful, plain, stark white. No brand. No ads. But this cup had shit-brown ink painted on it. It took me a minute to process the shape of the design. This looks familiar … , I thought, where have I seen this before?

In the next moment, my world came into focus. Like a Metra blasting through an intersection, the recognition roared through my brain. Starbucks! WTF!!! I looked down the counter to where the PBs peculators used to sit in all their unpolished glory and saw they had been replaced by two, perfectly branded Starbucks coffee pots, their branding matching the ink on my cup. I stared at the logo long in hard and it stared back laughing at me, boasting its conquest.

A defeated man, I looked back at the cashier but she avoided my gaze, already busy with another customer. My feet still worked so I reluctantly shuffled toward the Starbucks dispensers. If I drink it, do I take on its evil?, I asked myself. But I’ve already paid for itDamnit! I’m not going to let them beat me twice.

So I drank.

I haven’t been back to PotBelly’s since. I may never go back again, for fear they’ll start serving Jimmy John’s sandwhich’s or Dunkin Donuts bagels. I thought about writing a letter to the manager, but I wrote to you instead. I really don’t know if I’m going to make it. What’s wrong with people?

If Chicago is going to keep on keepin’ on, we can’t be drowning in over-priced coffee!

Sincerely hoping you can do something about this,

Mike