Moments after regaining consciousness this morning, I went into a Second Cup.

I ordered a tall Carmelo.

"What size?" asked the barista, a balding, middle-aged Lebanese fellow with a bushy mustache (I throw that information in to help you narrow down the location of the coffee shop).

I repeated: A tall Carmelo.

"What size?!?!" he asked again, his voice noticeably more on edge.

The enormity of my error then dawned on me.

"A small Carmelo, please," I said.

He then proceeded to serve me.