The customer asks for a latte. You make it and hand it off. The customer comes back and says, “I wanted this iced.” You remake the drink and hand it off again. The customer comes back and says, “I wanted this hot.”
The customer asks for a shot. A shot of what? You don’t know. They won’t tell you.
You work at a Starbucks. A man comes in asking for a triple shot venti latte with six pumps of vanilla and two scones. “I need you to ring each ingredient up separately,” he says. “I need my points,” he says. “They have my family.”
A new song comes on the radio. It sounds the same as the last song.
A group of teenage friends come in, all shouting their orders at the same time. Every order requires you to use the blender. They want to pay separately. Two of them want you to write something with the caramel drizzle on top of their whipped cream. None of them tip.
The fresh pot of drip coffee has been dripping since before your shift started.
“Do you have soy milk?” You haven’t had soy milk for three years. “Do you have soy milk?” You ran out and management never replaced the stock. “Do you have soy milk?” You’ve given up saying no. No one ever listens.
Your shift began at six in the morning. Your last shift ended at five-thirty, half an hour ago. When was the last time you left this coffee shop?
You look at the clock, it’s 12:37. You make forty-three drinks and put a new batch of scones in the oven. You look at the clock again. It’s 12:38.
You’ve heard about “break.” Those who take it are oblivious to the horde of people screaming for a drink. Someone has thrown up in the middle of the floor. The drive-thru line is up to twenty-three cars. Those who are on break see none of this. You know they will never hear your cries for help.
You’ve seen the outside world through the windows of the shop. It is a bright place. Thousands of people pass by your shop every day. They cannot know the horrors within.
