An awkward moment recently: I ordered an espresso from Starbucks and the barista, a young fellow with fashionably chaotic blond hair, asked my name. I'd heard that this is the new policy at Starbucks but, not being a regular, I'd forgotten. None of your business, I thought, and fumbling for something to say instead of my name, I said, “I suppose you're getting annoyed having to ask people their names.”

The young man's face darkened perceptibly. “A lot of things annoy me,” he said, “but if you don't want to tell me your name, that's fine.” His colleague proceeded to pull me a deeply uninspiring espresso, which I felt that I rather deserved.

I took the coffee and sat awkwardly in the corner, avoiding eye contact with the staff and vowing to steer clear of Starbucks in future. One bad espresso just isn't worth the social discomfort.