The Dirt Field

As an former employee of the great empire that is Starbucks Coffee, I feel entitled to take a moment to offer some constructive criticism. I’ve been drinking Starbucks beverages for years, first as an unsuspecting customer, then as a savvy employee, and now as a jaded and bitter customer. I’d probably stop consuming your offerings entirely if it weren’t for the need to continually put something in my mouth throughout the workday, as well as the need to periodically consume something other than whatever chemicals make the magical 7 Eleven instant cappuccinos. However, after this morning’s experience, I am finally fed up.

First of all, let’s discuss drink quality. I know you make hundreds of drinks in one day and are therefore unconcerned by the occasional shitty drink. You resteam that same crusty pitcher of milk for the fourth time, you use that shot that has been sitting there for five minutes, you completely ignore the required 1/4″ of foam on my latte. I know you don’t give a shit, and when I worked there, neither did I. But that one crappy drink out of three hundred still cost me over three dollars, and I expect fucking perfection in a cup. I expect the latte to massage my tastebuds and pick up my drycleaning. It’s not that hard to make a decent drink.

Another issue that is loosely related to drink quality is lid sanitation. You’ve just finished handling dozens of cups, bags of coffee, a grubby marker to write on the cups, your hair, and the contents of your left nostril. Then you pick up the lid for my drink and smush it onto my cup with your entire hand. Your entire disgusting hand. Smushing the place where I’m about to put my mouth. See that little hole there on the lid? Just don’t touch it. It’s not that hard. And when you look at my lid and see brown spots on it from your hand? TAKE IT OFF AND PUT ANOTHER ONE ON. One without your filth on it, preferably.

Finally, my pastry selection. As it is the holiday season, I regularly get in the spirit by ordering a gingerbread cookie. This cookie may technically be called a “Gingerbread Barista Cookie” because it is wearing a green frosting apron, but that is an incredibly stupid name. Therefore, I will simply refer to it as a gingerbread man or a gingerbread cookie. When I do this, do not look at me as if I have just ordered a slab of human flesh. Think about your pastry selection, realize that there is NOT ONE OTHER ITEM THAT CAN BE DESCRIBED USING BOTH THE WORDS “GINGERBREAD” AND “COOKIE” and then give me my fucking cookie.

I know these may seem like trite complaints, but when I am paying close to five dollars for a wholly mediocre snack, I expect that mediocrity to be of the highest quality possible.

Thank you,

The Scowling Person Who Snarled At You When You Finally Put My Drink On The Damn Bar After I Waited For Ten Minutes For You To Ostensibly Milk The Cow Yourself