Let's Carry Around Starbucks Mugs

Recently our school planned a "Teacher Appreciation Luncheon and Raffle" for us because it was, you guessed it, Teacher Appreciation Week.
One of the administrators got the raffle prizes . . . . . .

Want to guess what they were?

Starbucks gift bags with Starbucks products like Starbucks cookies and Starbucks mugs inside!!!!!

When I saw the prizes I felt sick to my stomach and when I found out an administrator was responsible for them I felt even more "uncomfortable."

I sought her out and privately asked her, "Why Starbucks?" and was met with some pretty hostile remarks and attitude (complete with her hand in my face -- you know, the splayed fingers, other hand on hip kind of body language)
I will save you the blow by blow description of the situation. It came down to this.
She felt it was not important that Starbucks contributed to Planned Parenthood.
Her most vehement arguments were (get ready for this)

1. everyone around here is drinking it
2. it was free (i.e.: donated by Starbucks)
   

It boiled down to those incredibly well thought out and conscientious reasons. Hopefully you read that last sentence with the dripping sarcasm it contains.

I tell you - I was flabbergasted and sorely disappointed in her. Then I started getting mad. I became incredulous. I tried to walk away with some dignity.
Oooooh noooo, not possible. The hand was back up and in my face as she reiterated that she was the decision maker and that my opinion did not matter.
I waited (of course. . . . . as patient as a saint in my mind's eye!) and then I decided, in that calm kind of way that comes over you when dealing with, say, a 3 year old, to say one last thing.

"We have different opinions. My opinion, however, is based on our Catholic teaching of NOT supporting an institution like Planned Parenthood that performs almost a million abortions each year."

I guess part of me snapped because with this last line I mirrored her "talk to the hand" gesture . I said, "Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

Well, she is a younger woman than I . . . . . and I am guessing that the hand in your face is akin to, "Yo Mama!" from my generation. She got even redder in the face, her belligerence accelerated, her lips turned into thin white lines and she nearly spat at me with her next (very long winded) tirade. I quickly learned that, like a 3 year old, she also adamantly craved and felt she deserved the last word(s).

I let her have the last word(s). They still made no sense to me.
"Everyone is doing it. It was free."