First and foremost, I am absolutely astounded that people actually read my blog. I'm convinced that blogger is doubling the numbers and it's just my mom looking at it multiple times. Or maybe some of you are actually enjoying it? Either way, it's nuts.
Second, you should anticipate many entries about Starbucks because it is just nuts. As the night shift supervisor, Ronnida, says, "I could make webisodes of this place." Yes, she definitely could. So instead of webisode, I'm making blog entries.
You must understand that I am clearly the whitest girl that works there, but they excuse it because they know I'm from the Middle-of-Nowhere, Pennsylvania. Ronnida came up to me the other week as I was going on my break and says, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure", I respond.
"Are you from Pennsylvania Dutch territory?"
"Well, yeah."
"I knew it!", she exclaims. "You have that kind of an accent."
Well, I've never been told that I've had an accent before, and I'm not sure what to think about it. See, I've always made fun of people that have that twang (just ask my mom when she says the word "measure" around Ian and I.) Darn it, I guess everything comes full circle.
I'm also the clumsiest person that they have probably ever had working at this Starbucks. I knock stacks of cups and lids all over the floor on a regular basis, send pastries flying through the air, and leave the spout open when brewing coffee, resulting in a very, very large, steamy puddle.
This past Monday, I was dumping out coffee as one of my co-workers, Lauren, went to rinse a pitcher out at the same time. The result was me blasting the back of her hand with 200 degree coffee. She put some cream and a bandage over it, but it was so bad that my manager, Shad, had to go to Rite Aid and get her super-intense gauze to put over her super-intense bandage. I felt absolutely terrible, but Lauren wasn't angry, which was a blessing. *Sigh* They are totally going to fire me soon.
But alas, one precious moment I was lucky to be the bystander instead of the one causing problems. Ronnida was dismantling the iced coffee machine to wash it, when all of a sudden the spout goes flying off and iced coffee starts shooting (shooting, not just pouring; it was moving with force) across the entire bar.
"Oh gracious! Oh gracious!", she starts yelling. At this point, I'm doubled over because: 1) I'm grateful this isn't happening to me, and 2) it's just hilarious.
"Alisha! Would you stop laughing and come here!?"
So I compose myself and run over and stick my finger in the machine. I definitely felt like the little Dutch kid in the story who plugged the dam with his finger, which I suppose is appropriate since I already have the accent. I should also mention that this came full circle: later, I forgot to close the spout as I was cleaning the coffee urn, so hot water started dripping on the counter, down the cabinets, and onto the floor.
Finally, I am appalled and somewhat disgusted at how many guys hit on me while I'm taking their order. I'm wearing an apron that makes a burlap sack look fashionable with bags under my eyes because I've been working since 4:15 am. (On a side note: I'm sure it's a lot more guys than I notice since I'm 99% oblivious to this type of thing; Steven went out of his way for 3 weeks to hit on me before we started dating and I didn't realize it until our one year anniversary....)
Except this next situation was pretty obvious. I was working on restocking the pastry case, when this mid-20's guy comes over. He has the audacity to say, "You know, I looked at you, and I looked at those pastries, and I asked myself, 'Which one would be more delicious?' And I decided you were."
Oh. gracious.
Where do I even begin with this? Oh, I know: GROSS! But since I'm not allowed to tell off customers at work, I just said, "Thank you?"and decided I should get my huge diamond ring cleaned that my husband gave me. I guess this happens frequently at Starbucks, because my female co-workers were zero help, although I did see one of our regular customers, Pete, shooting daggers at him with his eyes. All I have to say is, I hope this translates into some awesome tips.
So that's my job, which has proven to be much more interesting and challenging than I ever thought it would be. But Ronnida is right, we could totally make some webisodes about this place.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
People are people.
So Starbucks is actually really well. I'm astonished, probably erroneously, that my fellow employees like me and like working with me. I'm becoming more accustomed to the high maintenance crowd and I'm learning to respond positively to their ridiculous complaints without emotionally internalizing them or giving them a sarcastic reply, which would be oh so easy to do (especially for me).
However, there was one day where they just got to me. I actually had the day off, but I was still really edgy from working the weekend, which is a madhouse. I headed to the post office to send out some shoes, expecting the process to be easy; I had a pre-paid label, the box was taped and ready to go. I should have known better. I stand in line for 10 minutes, and this Superman looking guy calls me up to wait on me. He has a thick Southern accent and mumbles constantly so I have no idea what is he saying. He muttered something, which I picked up as "You can't have that tape on your box". I look at him like he has six heads, and not feeling particularly up for this Battle of the Tape, he reads my mind and says that's been the rule since Christmas. Seeing as how I don't frequent the post office to send out packages and they don't send out memos about this thing, I became frustrated. But Mr. Mumbles was nice and handed me new tape as he disappeared to wait on someone else.
All of a sudden, this guy comes over and says "You can't use that tape! WHERE did you get that tape?!" So I point to Mumbles, and this guy disappears. The tape runs out, so I ask a lady for more. "WHERE did you get that tape?! You can't use that tape!!". She is literally yelling at me. In a post office. Over tape. Oh, seriously? Since I'm on edge, I start to crack. I point at Mumbles, and she says "Oh, you shouldn't have that tape" and disappears.
Recap: 3 people tell me I have the wrong tape, and three people disappear. Where to is beyond me, since it is a post office. I have also been scolded by two of them.
Then elderly Korean Eugene walks over. "Can I have more tape?" "Where you get that tape?", he responds. I'm sure Mumbles at this point is tired of me pointing at him, but I do it again. "Oh no, you suppose to use different tape." And I cracked. "Can you just send this out?!" and I leave the box there, not even making sure it gets sent where it needs to go, step outside of the post office, and start sobbing. Over tape. How embarrassing.
If you ask Steven to tell this story, it goes something like this: "Well, I got this really angry email at work about people in a post office and something about tape. Then I get home, half a bottle of wine is gone, and she's still upset about the post office. I just don't get it."
But it's not about tape or coffee or anything like that. I was truly upset because the urban mentality of life is quite a bit different than the State College mentality of life, and that's harder to get used to then trying to find your way around or adjusting to being away from familiar faces. the difference between commanding and asking, expectations and acknowledgment, and quite frankly, just being a decent human being (ie, respect, politeness, kindness, etc.). And for someone as emotional and introverted as I, it's a tough pill to swallow since: 1) I don't like being a doormat and 2) I have been known, once or twice (... or more), to use my words as my best defense.
But I just don't get it- in what world do people get off treating other people like dirt? Does it happen at some point when they have the life they want, complete with money, a career, and a car, that they feel like those who don't have those things are lesser than they are? Or are people born that way?
The one thing I have learned from various missions trips is that people are people. Everyone is different, but we are all people. We are made of the same stuff. And it breaks my heart that not everyone can see that :(
However, there was one day where they just got to me. I actually had the day off, but I was still really edgy from working the weekend, which is a madhouse. I headed to the post office to send out some shoes, expecting the process to be easy; I had a pre-paid label, the box was taped and ready to go. I should have known better. I stand in line for 10 minutes, and this Superman looking guy calls me up to wait on me. He has a thick Southern accent and mumbles constantly so I have no idea what is he saying. He muttered something, which I picked up as "You can't have that tape on your box". I look at him like he has six heads, and not feeling particularly up for this Battle of the Tape, he reads my mind and says that's been the rule since Christmas. Seeing as how I don't frequent the post office to send out packages and they don't send out memos about this thing, I became frustrated. But Mr. Mumbles was nice and handed me new tape as he disappeared to wait on someone else.
All of a sudden, this guy comes over and says "You can't use that tape! WHERE did you get that tape?!" So I point to Mumbles, and this guy disappears. The tape runs out, so I ask a lady for more. "WHERE did you get that tape?! You can't use that tape!!". She is literally yelling at me. In a post office. Over tape. Oh, seriously? Since I'm on edge, I start to crack. I point at Mumbles, and she says "Oh, you shouldn't have that tape" and disappears.
Recap: 3 people tell me I have the wrong tape, and three people disappear. Where to is beyond me, since it is a post office. I have also been scolded by two of them.
Then elderly Korean Eugene walks over. "Can I have more tape?" "Where you get that tape?", he responds. I'm sure Mumbles at this point is tired of me pointing at him, but I do it again. "Oh no, you suppose to use different tape." And I cracked. "Can you just send this out?!" and I leave the box there, not even making sure it gets sent where it needs to go, step outside of the post office, and start sobbing. Over tape. How embarrassing.
If you ask Steven to tell this story, it goes something like this: "Well, I got this really angry email at work about people in a post office and something about tape. Then I get home, half a bottle of wine is gone, and she's still upset about the post office. I just don't get it."
But it's not about tape or coffee or anything like that. I was truly upset because the urban mentality of life is quite a bit different than the State College mentality of life, and that's harder to get used to then trying to find your way around or adjusting to being away from familiar faces. the difference between commanding and asking, expectations and acknowledgment, and quite frankly, just being a decent human being (ie, respect, politeness, kindness, etc.). And for someone as emotional and introverted as I, it's a tough pill to swallow since: 1) I don't like being a doormat and 2) I have been known, once or twice (... or more), to use my words as my best defense.
But I just don't get it- in what world do people get off treating other people like dirt? Does it happen at some point when they have the life they want, complete with money, a career, and a car, that they feel like those who don't have those things are lesser than they are? Or are people born that way?
The one thing I have learned from various missions trips is that people are people. Everyone is different, but we are all people. We are made of the same stuff. And it breaks my heart that not everyone can see that :(
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