Confessions of a Coffee Addict

I sometimes find the conversations I have to have with Dunkin Donuts employees to be the most unbelievable experiences of my life. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but I quite frankly enjoy (read: freak out if I don't get) my daily coffee. I've probably written about all of this before, but in an effort to be a little more "healthy" (whatever that is) I've cut back to only one medium coffee a day. So I'm a little short on brain power. Stay with me though, it gets funny, I promise.
Meghan and I went up to Dunkin Donuts after hitting a couple buckets of golf balls on Sunday. As she details, it was about 200º outside, with 150% humidity (these numbers are slightly rounded). I needed my coffee.
As usual, something had to go pear shaped.

I drove up to the seemingly innocuous speakerbox device, and ordered in the least confusing way possible:
"I'll have a medium iced, extra skim, two splenda". DD - anything else? "Yeah, a medium iced coconut the same way". (I always managed to suppress the gagging noise that reflexively comes to me when I order Meghan a coconut coffee, but I mention it here for effect).
I'm beckoned by the disembodied voice to hither to bring myself to the magically slidey window.
Now, Meghan's dad has a term for our order - he says we order coffee with lots of "words" in it. This may be true in a sense (yes, I've used the term "iced mocha latte lite" before, but never have I used the word moccachino while ordering), but the kind orange shirted folks at DD never seem to be frazzled by too many words (just a certain lack of understanding of the english language as a whole, in some instances). And as I mentioned, it was hot - sunny, muggy, nasty hot. So I had my sunglasses on.
Yet as I pull up, I notice that one coffee, perched temptingly on the ledge like a warm apple pie cooling in the breeze, is regular extra-skim infused-colored, that is to say it is mostly dark with a hint of milk, and the other one is startlingly only-Michael-Jackson-is-whiter-than-the-cream-in-this-coffee white. I stare at the girl who's about to charge me for an erroneously made coffee and ask her what is in each - she looks down and reads the crayola chicken-scratch on the side and informs me "this one is the coconut (the one on her right) with skim and splenda, the other one is skim and splenda".
Meghan almost had to jump in at that point, either to speak with the girl, take the wheel, or both. As Lewis Black would put it, "the left side of my brain looked at the right side of my brain, and said 'its cold in here... and we may die".
I recovered within moments (I realized that Meghan was having the same brain issue, or was trying her hardest not to laugh in the poor dumb girl's face, I'm not sure which), and informed her that there was NO WAY the coffee on her left, which I'm fairly certain was white enough to reflect 99.7% of the visible light spectrum, was made with skim milk.
She looked down. It was as if I had given her a new pair of eyes, as she realized at once that I was correct. And I would forgive her her transgressions, save that she had had to look down and discern everything about the maker's handwriting, written on a transparent plastic cup, but didn't find a way for point A to connect to point B. Again, these are conversations I shouldn't be having. All I want is my freaking coffee... now.