Butter On My Sweet Potato

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Posted by Gin on February 4, 2008

Dear Girl At The Starbucks Window,
Let me preface this whole rant by making it clear that I would NEVER SAY THIS TO YOUR FACE, because I think picking a petty squabble with anyone that comes in contact with my consumables is tempting fate.
That said, I will continue with this note, in hopes that putting it Out There, the message will somehow find its way into your tiny brain.

When I roll up to the window so money and coffee can exchange hands, I am pre-caffeinated – this is why I visit your crack-doling establishment on a daily basis. As such, this is not the time to strike up some chit-chat with me. The way this works is, I hand you $3.83, you hand me my tall non-fat no-whip mocha with a sticker over the mouthpiece, tell me to have a good day, I mumble thanks, and by the time I have driven onsite, parked, hiked through the parking lot, and trudged up the stairs, I have taken sufficient sips of that delicious chocolaty nectar that I can give my cubemates a pleasant “Good morning” before I start pretending to work.
Your job is to be pleasant, succinct, and good at handing things to people – let’s not overcomplicate things by throwing “relating a story about 2 crazy customers getting into a screaming fight” in there (though I should mention that the reason they probably got into said shouting match is because they had been waiting so long for their coffee because you were busy telling some other customer some stupid story.)

The drawback to working in the customer service industry is that most Customers just want Service, not a best friend – this is a lesson I too learned working in retail and at a grocery store in high school and college, and this was more than sufficient motivation to finish college so I would never have to work in such a job Ever Again. Let this be another After School Special-type lesson to you – Don’t Do Drugs, Don’t Get Knocked Up, Finish School, Don’t Get Stuck In A Job That Requires You To Wear An Apron And A Headset.

With Love and an Extra Shot of Moody,


2 Responses to “”

  1. I could not agree with you more. There is little more in life that I hate than the window person trying to talk to me. It’s almost like going to the gynecologist and while they are “down there” talking to you about your weekend…there is no need for us to speak while you face is next to my vagina.

  2. That reminds me so much of my visit to the new local coffee shop by my house. I thought I would try it out. I was assaulted by a chorus of “Good Mornings” from the ten plus overzealous employees. Then the cashier, who was obviously on his thirteenth shot of espresso, lauched into a whole long hyper story about God knows what. I simply put my hand up, shooshed him, and explained as nicely as I could that I had yet to have any coffee and therefor could not tolerate his level of chipperness.And oh my goodness, dirty pirate, why oh why do gynos do that?! It is just creepy. Don’t talk to me with your hands down there! And don’t shake my hand on the way out the door either!

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