There's another positive aspect, though--one that I'm almost loath to mention because it practically veers into the realm of corporate PR shill-ery.
See, I have this theory that a major component of Starbucks' busines model is predicated on the assumption that the company's ex-employees will become addicted to the coffee during their time as partners. And once they leave the company, they'll actually become daily customers.
It's a brilliant, evil plan, so dastardly that surely it could only have been hatched from deep within the bowels of
I know of its power, because it worked on me. I succumbed. I became a Starbucks junkie, something I'm not altogether proud to admit.
Every day, I go to my neighborhood Starbucks--a good two minute walk from my apartment (a store which, despite that miniscule commute, was not even the one I worked at)--and order my usual: a boring old grande coffee (with room for cream and sugar).
So what's so wondrous about being manipulated through force of habit and addiction to spend $1.85 every morning, you ask?
Well, the truth is, it's become a nice part of my morning routine. And I'm probably not that addicted to Starbucks coffee; I could probably get coffee anywhere and be satisfied. It's really about the people at my neighborhood store--both the folks behind the counter and the regulars who frequent the store--who I enjoy seeing for a brief moment or two every morning.
I like how the store manager always calls me "David" (probably because that's what she saw on all the official staff listings when I was working for the company). I enjoy chatting with the various baristas--the funny Asian guy, the older British woman with a great, quintessentially British name (Moira), the cute redhead, the other cute redhead (yeah, yeah...call it Charlie Brown Syndrome), the guy who lives in my apartment complex, and so on.
Some of the customers still know and recognize me from my time as a barista (my old store is literally 250 yards away), so it's nice to see them and chat with them. With perhaps the exception of the crazy old man who gabs my ear off with long-winded stories that betray some deep-seated anger issues. But even then, seeing him is a bit comforting to me; I would miss him if he was no longer there.
Before my time as a barista, I would usually walk into the store, get my drink (formerly a carmel apple cider--until I came to realize how annoying a drink it is to make), say very little to the baristas, and usually walk out with little fanfare. Not that I was unfriendly, per se; I just didn't feel like I could make friends with people I saw for a minute or two at a time.
But something about wearing the green apron for a season changed me in a small way. Now I know almost every barista at the store by name. I enjoy chatting with them throughout my time at the store (whether for a minute or two or four a few hours), relishing those fleeting moments every day that I get to share with them.
It doesn't seem like they should matter, these fleeting moments of short and simple interactions. But they do. And I'm glad that I can now see this store as a place that offers some semblance of that much-desired sense of community.
*Well, not entirely thankless. I recently became friends with a girl from church who would frequent my store when I worked there, and she sent me a very sweet note the other day, expressing her appreciation for the way I apparently beamed happiness and warmth from behind the counter. Not that I entirely believe that (OK, maybe I do), but it was super gratifying to hear, nonetheless.
**I kid, I kid. Seattle's a great town.
No comments:
Post a Comment