CAUGHT IN A BAD ROMANCE (my story ends...)

        In training I watched a video of Howard Schultz, the CEO of Starbucks, talk about how the idea of his coffee shop came to be.  It started on his visit to Italy and how he saw the romance of the Italian coffee shop and tried to duplicate that here.

     There is no romance in the lobby of our Starbucks.  

     Our typical customer is a tree trimmer who meets each and every night with six of his fellow blue collar cohorts to discuss why their wives failed to add them to the titles of vehicles that were newly purchased.  Or, the cost of tree trimming service and who was really getting the money.  There were times these guys were so loud I began shouting to the customers in front of me.  One woman cringed as she paid.  The noise level with these six men was akin to a poker game played in a smoke-filled basement at midnight.  It was astounding.

     Often, Starbucks will play songs of the revolution generation.  Like, Bob Dylan  or Neil Young, and then more Bob Dylan.  This, of course, comforts the old gray haired men who think they still have a chip in the game.

      Listen, that game is long over.  The revolution against governemt failed miserably.  There are no more civil liberties and I don't see you complaining about it.  I don't see you protesting, boycotting, organizing, rallying or any of that.  So, get over your reminiscing and go sit down with your government hacked lap-top and check your blue chip stocks.  Admit it.  Those might really be the only chips you have in the game. 

      The entry rug of our store has never been vacuumed. Never.  The place was 10 years old.  Dirt was caked in.  I discovered this when I was looking for a vacuum cleaner and was told there was none.  Once I knew this, I no longer questioned the sand-like layer of dirt in our lobby as I swept.

  

     Meanwhile, in the bathroom, the crazy gray-haired lady cleaned herself up in her tattered tank top, and then would come up to the counter for a cup of hot water.  It was all she could afford.  We threw away sandwiches nightly that I'm sure she wished a shift manager would offer her--but that would have gotten him fired.

     The duplication of the romance failed miserably.  Maybe, if you played smooth jazz it might be romantic.  Maybe, if you redesigned your shops and put the noisy coffee grinders in the back we would all hear each other talk.  Maybe, if you trained your Manager to not shout to customers when repeating back their orders-- but, no, Mr. Schultz, there is no romance here.

     Instead, we are left with people touting an over-abundance of disposable income, loading and reloading gold colored cards for the liberty of talking condisendingly to the person taking their order.

     Rich people, that are so worried about getting ‘stars’ in their cups that they order all of the family member's beverages in separate transactions.  Then, in the middle of the final transaction, they stop you and tell you to load $108.60 on the gold card, because for some reason they need to pay for today's order and must know that there is $100 left on their gold card.  These are old men. Rich old men, that need to feel important. 
     These men need a lesson in life from my father.   I can see him turn his head in my direction, raise his voice and say, “You paid how much for that cup of coffee?!!  What the hell is wrong with you?!”  

     Red-eye, Black-eye, London Fog, Affogato Style, Upside-down, Double-blended....these are all demands the customer would make on the barista to concoct their beverage just right. 

     Now tell me, why do you come to the green apron if what you want is so complex it would take someone akin to a trapeze artist juggling flaming batons to create the concoction?  Just make it yourself at home if you are that needy. 
     The rest of us just drink coffee.  Sometimes with cream, sometimes with sugar, and sometimes……with both.

"You want your coffee..how?"

Thank You for reading my chronicles....I hope you enjoyed them....
--Nancy

"HEY! DOES NOEL KNOW THIS IS GOING ON??"

Warning......May have been previously thawed.......in anger....

     Lena attempted to walk away from the locksmith just after she opened door #1 to the safe, and leave the locksmith to crack open door #2, where are tips lay in waiting to be rescued.  

     Our safe had been broken for approximately 2 weeks. 

     The front of the safe held all the money, coin, coupons, deposits, and anything cash-related to the functioning of the store.  Then, there was a second door (the safe inside the safe) which held our tips.  Shift supervisors were to drop special plastic bags filled with the cash, which they put a time and date on--into the slot for the the second door.  Today, the locksmith had come for the second time, this time with the right tools to drill it out.
     Tips were divided up according to the hours you worked from the week prior. And, with it being broken for several weeks, were were very excited to be getting some serious cash.

      Behind door #1, there were many money bags.  To which he said to her—"you will have to remove all the money before I can begin work.:  She stared at him, as the weight of the financial responsibilities of a Shift Manager were becoming too great a burden.

      In trying to prod her into the comfort of knowing that she was not alone in having to complete this task--that the locksmith was here ONCE BEFORE --A FEW DAYS AGO-TRYING TO SOLVE THIS SAME PROBLEM-- I said, "Lena, Katz just took all of the money bags in back."  I was urging her get started for the locksmith to begin working--

     She began to say…"but……" and then she just bent over and started getting them out from the floor of the safe.  She dumped all of the money bags on Noel's desk, with no attempt to secure the money in a safe place, such as a drawer--then, turned around and left. Without saying a word-- she was out the door.  Literally, she left the building.

     A new shift manager arrived!—Chris, from Venice.  Apparently we were running out of people that liked working at our store and we were importing them from other stores.  Chris was very easy going and took matters into his own hands.  He was loaded with common sense not seen in this store, and I, for one, was grateful.

     Panties in a bunch was trying to tell Chris what to do and I let him.  I was happy it was a new manager and that Katz was somewhere in Miami at a music festival to give Mat Zo a kiss in person.

     After everything I hear about Miami, I just hoped she wouldn’t get killed.
  

      Kevin and I were relatively new, so Panties was guiding Chris through the evening shift duties-
he also let him know to expect a 160-box delivery, to which Chris stopped in his tracks and stared at him.  

     The duties of overseeing the locksmith's drilling-- with a ton of money bags all strewn out on a desk in the back, had me wondering why Noel wasn't there to take care of the safe.  I mean--here we were, trying to do our jobs, while 2 local locksmiths were kneeling in the middle of our front counter area- (because the safe was located between the two registers)-- prying open the safe at the green apron--and essentially--no one was in charge??
     I asked if anyone had called her to let her know the locksmiths were here--and Panties replied that he had called her personally, and that she wasn't coming in.

     Heck no, I thought to myself.  She could have cared less what went on at that store.  When she left at 1pm---she was done--and I mean done for the day.

     Panties helped him deal with the massive amounts of tips that were shoved into the newly drilled out safe by bringing all the plastic bags of tips to the desk in the back to accompany the money bags.  Even though the safe was broken, tips were still being deposited into the safe because "there was no where else to put them."  At some point in time in the past week I had mentioned to a co-worker that perhaps the safe was broken due to the weight of the coin straining the locking mechanism --and that adding more tips to it was just aggravating the situation.  She shrugged. 

     Panties instructed me to start dishes, and I was happy to get out of his sight.

     It was somewhere between the locksmith breaking free the tip area of the safe, then, DunGuard armored vehicle taking the rest of the money and the 160-box store delivery of supplies, that Chris had his brilliant idea.  I was so pleased with it, I couldn’t believe it.   After the order was delivered to the store, Chris brought Panties in the back, where I was doing the dishes.
     He handed Panties the inventory sheet and said “I know you are familiar with all of these things and where they all belong.  So, I am going to have you go ahead and start checking it in and putting it away."  Chris walked back up to the front of the store and left Panties standing there. 
     I quickly looked down and continued to wash dishes.

     I decided it was time to take my half-hour dinner. So, prior to leaving, I waltzed up to Panties, who was slowly prodding through the delivery boxes, and in a sing-song way asked him... “He’s going to come back here and help you... isn’t he?” 

     “No,” Panties replied, then continued, "And if he thinks I’m going to put it all away—he is completely mistaken."

     I shook my head, because I knew that Panties would not even try to put it away.  

     Panties left for the evening as soon as I got back from dinner.  Upon my return, I discovered he didn’t put the boxes of frozen breakfast sandwiches away at all.  They had been left out for at least an hour.  I notified Chris of my discovery, and doing his best to remain diplomatic, said, "Well, I'm sure he didn’t mean too…." and then put them in the freezer.  

     I myself, would have wrote Panties up for complete disregard for product safety.  Or, something like that.  It was purposeful, and again, passive-aggressive.  Yet, no one ever reprimanded him for it.

     The next day Katz came back from her trip to Miami and demoted herself.  As it turns out, whenever Katz had asked for a day off, Noel would purposefully schedule her.  It had become a game to Noel to make sure Katz had no life.  She worked every weekend evening shift and would only give her evenings during the week.  No days.  Noel knew that Katz was trying to save money for school, and figured she wouldn't quit, so she abused her.
     Being a shift Supervisor under Noel was giving Katz nothing but grief and she knew she would go no further in the system.  So, she decided to keep her sanity by not licking Noel's boots anymore as a Shift Supervisor and just be a common Barista.  At least she couldn't get yelled at when things went wrong.  I thought it was a shame because Katz was the only Shift Supervisor of this coffee shop that bothered to teach me about coffee.

JELLY BELLY

M m m m m m m m m 

 

Today was quite a show.

     My shift was the 2 to 9.  I came on and worked the register for 2 hours straight.  

     My shift Manager was Lena, a young lady in her late 20's that was pregnant.  Halfway through those two hours, a question came across the counter posed by a customer-- in front of the two of us,--to which I turned to Lena, who was standing at the register next to mine, for an answer. 
     The question was specifically about sugar free syrups and, if you ordered something "skinny" did that mean they would automatically use sugar free syrups or just make it with non-fat milk?  I, myself, thought it was a good question, because the order stipulations/variations at the green apron know no bounds.  Lena, in complete, obvious disdain for all human interaction, did not look up from the register she was forced to take because my line was moving so slow.  --I turned to Lena for response, as, this customer absolutely did not want any sugar-free items in her vanilla latte. 

     In sharp, curt words, WHILE NOT LOOKING UP, she told the lady that if she ordered "skinny" she would get sugar-free.  Then Lena walked away jingling her manager keys.  The woman, now showing a blank stare, turned to me, so I encouraged her—from here on out—just order a NON-FAT vanilla latte.  Then, there would be a 50/50 chance she would end up with something without the sugar-free vanilla.  That magic word “skinny” ruins everything.  Including your health.  

     The lady with the vanilla syrup latte and Lena's disdain for her job, combined with Panties working as Barista, created the trifecta of work environments for me.

     Lena used the pregnancy card as much as possible.  Each time she vocalized something about her pregnancy, like how tired she was, or how big she was getting, or how she needed to sit down for a little while…. I was sure to chime in that I worked in the federal prison as a correctional officer on the south side of Chicago until my 7^th month of pregnancy, and that surely this job couldn’t possibly be as strenuous or as stressful as that.  

     She, as well as others, would glare at me as though I did not think her unborn baby worked hard enough.

     Lena would prop her feet up on Noel's desk in the back, pull her shirt up to her boobs, and her pants down low to expose her belly and then gel it all up and plug in a baby heart rate monitor. 

     The first time she did this I was shocked.  She did this at the Store Manager's desk, which was the only desk in the building, and the only desk to eat at- on break.  At first, I thought there was something wrong with her unborn fetus, that she had to check the heart rate periodically or something, but no, as it turns out, she did it to garner attention.  

     I could not imagine any proper mother in her right mind acting in such a needy way.

I pitied her unborn child.  It would surely be fighting for attention right out of the canal.
     Noel, the Store Manager, never stopped her.  I had a hard time believing this was all approved corporate behavior.  Lena wasn't even on break when she did this.  She would just prop her feet up where all of us ate, where schedules and notes were left..where money bags were thrown on...I mean...this desk was far from clean..... and gel up her belly.
     I gave birth to three daughters and worked during all my pregnancies. Never would I have thought to display my belly in such unconventional fashion during any of those times. I guess my thinking was too professional.  I stared at the gel-rub glopping--and realized where I was...deep in the heart of the South....that some moms just didn't have class.....

Hee-haw.  I thought to myself, and walked away.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Well-meaning people walk up and say "Give me a non-fat, no-foam, extra whip 2-pump mocha,

1-pump hazelnut, 1-pump raspberry  latte.
     To which I reply, "What size?" and then make them repeat the entire order  again, because the first thing in my cue is the size.

     Sure, at times I’ll go along and press all of those buttons out, not knowing how the end of the story will turn out, and granted, the more complicated, my heightened curiosity is really peaked when they say "latte,"  and then say,"...no, no...no..I meant frappichino….and, you know, make it a Venti." Which pretty much erases everything on the order screen-- and I politely say--"I'm sorry....what was that again?"

     I think to myself—listen people...These things are custom blended, and I have to write all this on the cup.

     First off, if you bother to tell me the CUP SIZE FIRST—I take that cup—and write on it as we go along—and when you say—very slight ice—or—(and here’s a good one)—“just a splash of lemonade” I can write that out on the cup—heck, I have written novels on those paper cups...because there is absolutely no button that says 'just a splash of lemonade.'  There just isn’t.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Lena couldn't remain all gelled up with a baby heart rate monitor at her belly all day--so I called her up to the front of the store for another question posed by a very nice young man at my register.  
     Naturally this ticked her off.

     The young man ordered a "holiday" drink that was a frappuccino. And, by holiday--I mean it was offered at Christmas time.  It was now April.
     But, people do this all the time--order things that are not on the menu.   The holidays are over.  But, he was still ordering the drink.  And, apparently, did the same thing THE DAY BEFORE. Which, incidentally, I am perfectly fine with. I just press buttons.  I have been here for 2 months and the store manager, Noel, has never mentioned that I should learn how to make a drink.  Every employee working at this location is afraid of Noel, so they assume her forgetfulness in training me how to become proficient at 'bar' means I have exceptional customer service skills.  So, that is where I'll stay.
     Buttons change every day here at the green apron.  The corporate computers take over our computers and "update them" and voila! new menu items! If that button gets removed it becomes a complex sequence of buttons and then subsequently, novel-writing on the cup to which the end result is a higher price.  A "salted caramel mocha frappuccino." is no longer on the register.  But, he ordered it and said the price was too high.
     Now, I didn't push the buttons on my register for that order, seeing as how I was still too new and never taught ANYTHING on bar--I had no idea what ingredients went into such a beverage--one of my co-workers pressed all the buttons for this one.  I just told the man the price.
     He complained the price was too high.  That he had came in yesterday and paid less.  I called up Lena who argued with him and told him that, "Whoever rang him up yesterday did it wrong because you have to charge for caramel and you have to charge for toffee nut and all of this goes in to the mocha frappuccino  And, by the way, we don’t have the salt for the topping. So, you can get a drink LIKE a salted caramel mocha frappuccino, but it will be missing the garnish—and you will still pay full price."    

     Thinking to myself –surely she would be kind and offer to take one of the two additional 60-cent charges for the syrups off his order once she saw he was so disappointed and upset.  But  instead, she ranted—"yes, of course it is cheaper when you order it when it is in our system—because we have a button for that.  But, they took away our button—so we just can't charge that same price."  And walked away from him.
     It was horrible.  I thought to myself--the customer service at my store is at it's zenith!!
     The young man turned to me and vowed to never come back.  I nodded in agreement--after all --why would I argue?   Lena could have cared less. There was no button for it -so pay extra!--we aren't creating anything custom for you--not a price, or a modified coffee without it's proper garnish--nope!                                       Not even for a loyal customer like you.
      * * * * * * * * * *

THE SWEET TASTE OF VINDICATION

     The next day I came in to work and discovered that I had to, again, work with 'Panties in a Bunch', as our shifts over-lapped.  It was unfortunate, but being the more mature person, and one who was in the middle of a real estate transaction to which I had to throw in my John Deere mower, I had other things on my mind.  So, I ignored him.

     Apparently, being passed over for attention in favor of the brewing schedule, 'Panties'  acted up to his name and was talking so much that Katz asked him to kindly scrub the coving around the store to shut him up.  Flabbergasted and angry, when he took a 10 minute break --he didn't return for 30.  When she brought this to his attention, he offered up that he was entitled to extra time--or something to that avail-- anyway, it was an excuse so insolent, that Katz told him if he continues with his poor behavior, he will, indeed, be doing more cleaning.   'Panties'  replied, “do whatever you want to do!  I don’t care!”

     To which, Katz DID do what she wanted to do and sent him home early.  I remained silent the entire shift.   I felt my emotions were vindicated and there was absolutely nothing I could say to that.  So, I poured myself a vanilla latte, and drank it.