Starbucks. Come on. You’re hurting me. You know that I usually don’t get coffee on the way to work in the morning. I like to save my pennies and spend them on more important things, like yarn and kitty litter. I can make my own coffee. But this working twenty-four 12-hour days in a row, I’ve been needing java brewed FOR me.
And I don’t want to talk.
That’s why I go through the drive-through, yo. Because if I walk in, then I actually have to SEE you at five in the morning. I don’t WANT to. So I stay in my car, and when you tweet, "Good MORNING, thank you for choosing Starbucks, and how are YOU today?" I don’t want to anwer you. I am NOT fine yet, because I have no coffee, and I don’t want to have to break that to you, so I say, "Fine," and wait for you to ask me what I’ll be having on this fantabulous day.
I totally get that might be the rule. You might hate having to say that. That’s cool. But when I drive up and hand you my money, and you take it and then lean OUT the window while we’re waiting for the coffee to come up and say, "So! How ARE you today? What’s going on? How’s your day? What’cha got going on?" that’s just too much. I don’t make eye contact because I CAN’T. I am trying not to roar away, leaving my precious coffee behind.
I so appreciate service professionals who know how to read people. When I waited tables, I tried to be really conscious of it. You can tell, immediately, who wants to engage and laugh and joke with you, and you can tell the person who would really to just tell you their order and then get lost in their book. Laugh and joke with one, be courteous but no more to the other. That gets you the tips.
Please. Just hand me coffee.
PS – I have discovered that you can make pseudo-poached eggs in the microwave! Put a little water, maybe 1/4 cup, into a cereal bowl, break two eggs into the water, and nuke for about a minute (with something covering the bowl in case the eggs blow up — something that hasn’t happened yet but I hear it might). Meanwhile, your piece of bread is toasting. In about a minute, you have something I’ve always called chipped egg (poached eggs and buttered toast, all chopped up) which I thought was actually a phrase people used, but I just googled it and I think they don’t. But it’s fun to say chipped egg. Real breakfast! At work! So nice!
Get a Free Short Story!
Subscribe to get a free copy of Socks for Alex, a Cypress Hollow Short Story, compatible with all devices!