Thanks a Latte, Starbucks

Thanks a Latte Starbucks

When trying to find the perfect second job, I thought I wanted to work somewhere stress free, and most of all, happy. A place where I could forget the monotony of my day, and forget that I was actually being paid to be there. The happiest place on earth, AKA Disneyland, was 3,000 miles away, so I thought Starbucks would be an appropriate runner up. Starbucks employees were always smiling, always caffeinated, and always made a point to make me feel special.

My Starbucks wasn’t your typical Starbucks store. It was located in the largest mall in one of the largest metropolitan areas in the country. Therefore, it was fraught with teenagers and well off people accustomed to getting anything they wanted by merely snapping a finger. The lines to order a drink could get pretty outrageous, and we did the best that we could. It became immediately apparent that I was both not cut out for customer service, and that 74% of the clientele were morons.  While the customers waited in line, you would think that they would spend that time productively, deciding on the drink they wanted and counting out their money. Instead they grumbled about the long lines and sighed like hot horses in your face. When they got to the front of the line, they stared at the menu for five minutes before declaring that they wanted a medium frappe and a small wet cappuccino.

Hot Horse Breath

I should probably go ahead and warn you that working at Starbucks had turned me into a huge coffee bitch. Therefore, the conversation would go something like this:

Me (voice dripping with disdain…you know where your inflection goes up at the end and the last syllable drags on?): Okay, a Grande Frappucino and a Tall Cappuccino.

Customer: No, I wanted a frappe, you know the frozen drink?

Me: Actually, only McDonalds serves frappes.  We’re STARBUCKS and we serve FRAPPUCINOS.

Customer: Okay, and don’t forget the small cappuccino

Me (repeating order back): Okay, grande frappucino and a tall cappucino.

Customer: No, smallest size cappuccino.

Me: We call our small sizes a tall. That will be $40.

Customer: Okay, I’m trying to get rid of some change, I think I have $40 in pennies that I will count out in an excruciatingly slow manner.

Me: Super, and then the customers behind you will blame me and say if I had a college degree then maybe I could handle money more efficiently.

Two minutes later, the same customer would say that they had been waiting for ten minutes for their drink. They might take someone else’s drink even though there was a different name on the cup. We would then assure them that their drink was in the line and on the way, while we reassured a few others of the same thing. Eventually, my job became that of a reassurer. It was like being a kindergarten teacher with a migraine and a zero tolerance policy for shenanigans. “No sir, does that say your name on it? You ordered a latte, that’s a HOT drink. This cup has ice in it. This cup says Sally, sir, your name is John.  When you count to ten, your drink will be ready. NO DON’T TOUCH THAT!”

There were times when the customer was completely unsatisfied with their drink:

Customer: I ordered this extra hot, this isn’t hot.

Me: I can show you the third degree burn I acquired by making your drink if you like.

Customer: No, I want another one.

Me: Great! I’ll also give you a coupon for a free drink for dealing with my incompetency.

I then smiled maniacally and handed over a drink exactly the same as the last.

Daily, I was forced to swallow my pride. I took orders like a second rate porn star. I ripped out pieces of my soul and handed them over to customers that wouldn’t be happy if they were awarded a million dollars and an island of their own. I was told that I ruined someone’s Christmas for being unable to return a half used bag of coffee.

I guess the point of this story, is to make you aware that it’s not easy maintaining those Starbucks smiles when you have complete and utter assholes coming in every five minutes. So be a dear, be patient (yes I’m talking to you Mr. Triple Tall, Extra Hot, No Whip, Extra Nutmeg, Pumpkin Spice Latte), know what you want to order, don’t be surprised when you have to pay for your drink, and tip your GD barista.

 *Please note that due to strict orders from my psychiatrist, I am no longer working at Starbucks. I am writing for Rabble Rouse the World.

Editor’s note: While this site is on its gradual way to monetization, and we assume pirates gold, we are currently only able to pay our Liz in swamp grass and pretty rocks, which we’re pretty sure that wants she accumulates enough of, she will be able to trade for a kazoo. 


Liz Garcia

Liz Garcia

Liz Garcia is a 30 year old Gemini, living in Chicago with her boyfriend, two cats, and puppy. She is a planner by day, and wannabe writer by night. Loves the White Sox, candy, wine and cooking. Hates selfies, Corollas, and being the only one to laugh at her own jokes. Watch her laugh at her own jokes on Instagram @themisadventuresoflizzyg