I used to work at Starbucks. It was a spiritual experience. For an 18 year old girl, just begining her path to self-discovery, encountering hundreds of people with lives completely opposite her, it was an eye-opener.
I began working there in 2002, just before I began college at a state school. I was so excited to go to college. I wanted freedom. I wanted independence. I wanted resposiblilty. This was of course, before I actually ever had to pay bills of any sort.
I knew nothing of the coffee world. Not a clue what a latte was, not even sure how to brew a batch. I got the job easily and once I started my training, I thought, "Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?" I was handed workbooks and manuals to go through. My first attempt at completing them, I tried to ask a lot of questions to be sure I knew my stuff. Most of the answers I got were "oh, we don't do it that way here. So we'll just have to show you later." Since I get absolutely nothing out of workbooks anyway, I flew through them, copying down the answers I needed to, knowing that I just had to get on the floor and be shown what to do. I just needed to get my feet wet. I didn't know that I would literally, get my feet wet.
As soon as I stepped out behind the service counter, there was a huge puddle by the bar, that work mats were failing to cover. Why it didn't dawn on me that a pool of water might be somewhat unsanitary, I don't know, but I stood there and tried to secretly examine the work environment and still be cool at the same time. My self-esteem was very fragile. I was told I was beautiful all the time, but it only counted if it was a guy that said it, and it was a guy that I liked who said it to me.
There were two "partners" (Starbucks calls employees partners so everyone has a share in the company), behind the bar. They were young men who looked a little older than I. They seemed bitter and had attitudes. I didn't like them much, but wanted them to be nice to me because I was new. They said hi and Adam, the more lanky, scruffy one said, "welcome to hell". I laughed at him and a switch flicked on in my brain. A switch of self-preservation, of reasoning. I thought to myself, "no, it can't be that bad. He's not a Christian. Since I'm a Christian, it won't be that bad."
My life paused for a second. That moment is a polaroid in my mind. A snapshot of me swallowing my first gulp of real life. My eyes are open slightly larger than normal and I'm looking down, to my left at nothing on the floor. My arms are folded across my chest on top of my green apron. My hair is pulled back. I look pretty. Young. Full of life. One would think that I look like a normal "first day employee", a little shy, uncomfortable. But my eyes. The eyes. Staring at that picture long enough, I know that my eyes don't match the rest of my body. My soul changed that day. Stepping into that puddle and talking to Adam opened my eyes allowing my new self to shine through my pupils. I look back at that picture with pity and love, smiling at my naievity.
I splashed through the swamp and reached Liz, the heavy set, jovial woman who would be training me. She was a shift supervisor with huge breasts, stringy hair, typical East Baltimore "hown" accent, and missing teeth. Her clothes were too tight and she had a hard time manuvering behind the counter. Aside from her appearance, she was bubbly and friendly, although I knew immediately not to upset her because she seemed perturbed at the resposiblility of training me. I was frightened of her. She was annoyingly friendly to the customers that, at first, seemed wonderful because she was so kind to people. I wanted to greet people that way, it felt nice. I would never have guessed that she would eventually give me anxiety attacks.
I wondered if she was a Christian because she was so friendly. My Christian radar was in full-scan mode. I was trying to find anyone with that in common with me. I started to assume that friendly people were Christians and mean people weren't. Liz for a couple hours, seemed like a lovely Christian woman who served people. Then she swore, covered her mouth and giggled like a school girl. I remember looking at her, giggling with her, although apalled she has just spoken that, and immediatly X-ed her off the Christian list. So far on the list was... me. That's ok, I thought, there are others here.
The first thing I learned was how to brew coffee. Why it was so hard for me to grasp the concept of brewing coffee, I don't know, but it was. Liz was getting impatient with me, muttering under her breath about not having enough people on the floor to take on a trainee. I wanted to cry. I wasn't trying to do anything wrong. I was trying. At my old job, I was one of the best workers, I could be like that here too. I knew it. I had to do it. I had to prove myself to them.
That day I stuck next to an older man named Ryan. I had no idea why he worked at Starbucks. He looked older and clung to the register like it was his baby blanket. I would ask him questions and he would look at me like, "why the hell are you asking ME questions?" Then I learned he was only a few days newer than me and I was dissapointed because he was the only one who I thought was nice enough to answer me.
The rest of my training was a blur. I learned how to make coffee and whipped creams. I learned how to wipe counters and how to work the register. I got used to these things. I felt safe and reliable doing them. I had no idea how to work the espresso bar and frankly I was in no hurry to try. It scared the shit out of me. The thing was loud and blew hot steam out of it. People that worked on it were always pissed off and stressed out. Busy. I thought they would kill me if I got in the way.
Learning to call drinks was an expirience in and of itself. I had no idea what I was doing. My manager Kate, who was so nice and friendly, I was so thankful to have her there, would try to coach me on it, but really, it didn't stick for like 6 weeks. For some reason, I always worked Saturday mornings when we were insanely busy. So busy, the line would be out the door, 20 people in line, 15 waiting for their drinks. Busy. It was nice because my shift would over really fast, but it was so stressful, I had no idea what I was doing, that I would cry in my car if I had a break.
Customers were mean. New partners were fresh meat. A chance for evil people to show how proficient they are at how they order their drinks. Oh God were they mean. I couldn't believe how rude people were. How snobby. There was an older gentleman I waited on who ordered two lattes. One decaf venti, sugar-free vanilla, skim, no foam latte and a half-calf, venti, regular vanilla, two percent, light foam latte. He ordered like this:
"I need two lattes. One skim. One two percent. Uhm, the skim one is decaf and no-foam. The other one is half-calf, light foam, two percent. Oh and vanilla. And I forgot on the the skim one, no foam."
I thought to myself: "how the hell am I going to do this." And since they were so considerate, I, the new person, was on the farthest register, about 20 feet away from the bar where I was supposed to "call" these drinks to.
So I cleared my throat and yelled, "Ordering!"
No one heard me at the bar. Another partner was a calling a drink.
So I shouted, "Ordering!"
Still no response, the other register was ordering. They spouted off what they wanted so fast, I didn't bother listening.
Once more, less confident, "Ordering!"
My manager perkily said, "Go ahead Shell-bell!" She was a bubbly person like Liz too. Except she was genuinely nice and silly. Kate was her name. I liked her a lot. I felt eased that she would help me.
I opened my mouth to speak and realized I had completely forgotten what the man had said to me. I looked at him and said "what did you order again? Sorry. I'm new."
Clearly, he didn't care and as soon as he realized he had been stuck with a newbie, he raised his voice a little and talked tensely to me. So we went back and forth.
He would said what he wanted and I would echo him.
"Two lattes."
"Two lattes!"
"One skim and decaf."
"One skim and decaf!"
"Sugar-free vanilla"
"Sugar-free vanilla!"
"And no foam."
"No foam!"
"The other is vanilla, two-percent."
"Vanilla!"
I looked at him, forgetting what else he said.
"TWO PERCENT."
"Two percent!"
"And half-calf."
My manager smiled at me, "ok Shell, what size?"
I looked at him and said, "what size?" He looked at me and then to Kate desperately wanting her to come over and finish the transaction, but she didn't move.
He had forgotten what size his wife wanted and finally said, what sizes are there again?
I had forgotten myself and looked over at Kate, "hey Kate, what are the sizes again?"
Holding up each cup for visual comparison she said, "tall, grande, and venti."
He pointed to the farthest one saying, "venti, yeah that's it, venti."
So I rang him up, didn't charge him for the syrups simply because I didn't know how and he asked if that was the right price. I said, "yup" and he shrugged his shoulders and handed me a 20. I gave him his change and he stormed off to wait 10 minutes for his drink.
Then a new customer, even more peeved than him, since they had to wait in line, would march up and get right to business.
Finally, after about 6 weeks, I started to get used to the line of work. Drink calling took forever to learn. I would practice at night as I was trying to fall asleep. Then I would drink call in my sleep. Starbucks consumed me. The work became a little fun and I stopped crying on my breaks.
