The Effects of Coffee - a Word from the Inside

I have opinions about coffee. It is a beverage, a drug, a ritual, an industry, and an important thread in the world’s cultural tapestry. It is a thing worthy of comment, and comment can be made from any number of angles. The historical angle is covered eruditely here (a tiny sample of what‘s out there, but worthy reading):

History of Food by Maguelonne Toussaint-Samat (Barnes & Noble Books)

The Encyclopaedia Britannica 2004 Ultimate Reference Suite DVD (The same writing is probably found in the paper version)

Anything written by Kenneth Davids is worth a look if you’re interested in coffee.

I will not, therefore, attempt to summarize the history of coffee. One third of the world drinks it, says the above mentioned encyclopedia. I could write thousands of words about the many coffees I have tasted. Mr. Davids, among many others, writes eloquently on the nuances of coffee. He can also tell you how to buy it, roast it, and brew it properly. Pharmacologically speaking, I’m sure a bit of research would turn up some interesting stuff. As I write this, I am not aware of any really conclusive data about caffeine. I don’t believe that sufficiently large, lengthy and properly controlled studies have been done yet. No one can yet say whether caffeine is good or bad. Everyone reacts differently to it, and certain people need to be careful (pregnant women, people with heart conditions, etc.). If you’re an economically savvy person, you know that coffee is big business. It is a commodity which is traded in vast amounts. It is an understatement to say that there are people out there that know more about certain aspects of coffee than I ever will.

At the time of this writing, I have spent just over eight years in the coffee business. I have been at the very bottom of it, however. In the trenches, if you will. I work at Starbucks. It’s a good company; it really is. Retail, however, sucks dick. I’m trying to get a real job (read: a job that I like, which pays the bills, and involves a modicum of respect). I love coffee, however. I feel like a dinosaur at Starbucks. I work with kids who were born when I was starting high school. They don’t like coffee. They drink that foo-foo shit.

Most people drink that foo-foo shit. That foo-foo shit pays the bills. What do I mean by “foo-foo shit?” Anything but straight coffee. Anything. Lattés and Cappuccinos are borderline, only if they don’t contain anything but espresso and milk. Sweet stuff, blended stuff, and bottled stuff is all foo-foo shit. Yes, it’s a free country, and you can have whatever you want. If you are a polite customer, I will even make it for you happily. If not, well… I’ll write about you. We have now reached the pith of this piece of prose: The cultural aspect.

Most of my time in the coffee business has been spent in San Diego, California. It is quite similar to Cary, NC in that it is suburban and populated by a well-to-do, professional demographic. Both places have a shocking number of people with no manners, no taste, backward values, dim wits, little shame, and too much money.

I have, just to clear things up, abandoned reason and taken up judgmental ranting at this point. I have bitched and whined for years about customers. Plenty of my customers, of course, have been wonderful people. We have been part of each other’s lives. Enough assholes remain to make me continue my ranting generalization. Starbucks employees, both current and former, will know what I’m talking about.

No manners: Using your cellular phone while someone is trying to talk to you (trying to take your order, for example) is rude. What kind of spineless, lazy parents raised you? Get off the fucking phone, or you’re getting decaf. Also, when a sales person says, “Hello. How are you today?” it’s rude to cut them off midstream and say, “Yeah, I want…” We’re not fucking vending machines, you know. Well, I guess you don’t know. You’re unfamiliar with the phrase indicating gratitude, too. It’s pronounced, “Thank you.”

No taste: Nobody even notices the care I put into making drinks. I make good foam. I make good shots of espresso. And you take it right over to the condiment bar and dump a bunch of shit into it. You let it get cold in the car or on your desk, and then you microwave it. You order sickly sweet blended drinks. You order lattés with four or five packets of sweetener and several ounces of flavored syrup. I suppose you drink wine coolers and slushy cocktails, too, you fucking pussies. What’s the matter, afraid of the taste of coffee? Then don’t drink it.

Backward values: Hundreds of regular customers of mine spend thousands of dollars a year on their coffeehouse habit. Add to this the time and gasoline spent. What the fuck? Okay, fine. I spend money on alcohol and cookware. But I can make my own coffee. Also a lot of these customers drive big SUV’s. Why? You’ve never been off road in your life. It never snows in Southern California, and an SUV doesn’t help anyway. You don’t know how to drive. You’re on the damned phone, anyway. I have seen how these soccer moms and preppy golfers drive ALL ALONE in vehicles that get probably less than 15 miles per gallon. They don’t know how to park, either. Just because you can afford it doesn’t mean you should have it. The world will run out of gas, and you’ll have to find another expensive way to compensate for your empty life. And if you’re trying to lose weight, just stay the fuck out of here. Don’t order some bucket of heavy cream because you’re counting carbs. Go for a walk. Build an orphanage. Get off your ass. “I have so little time,” you say? Make time. I’m standing there every day in what amounts to a really good sociological duck blind, and I watch people whose lives are obviously full of crap just like kitchen drawers are full of unused gadgets.

Dim wits: There is no ‘x’ in the word ‘espresso.’ You sound like an uneducated moron when you say “expresso.” You don’t even know what it is. Many times someone has ordered “a large expresso” or something like that. I hand them some espresso, and they are confused at why “there ain’t hardly no coffee in this here cup.” When I put several drinks up on the bar for pickup, the writing on the side of the cup is not secret code. You’re just too dense to figure it out. Some hints: The big ‘X’ in the box labeled “decaf” just might mean that the drink is decaf. ‘M’ could possibly differentiate a mocha from the latté sitting next to it, which bears a nice, big ‘L.’ And so on. If you could only watch yourselves! I can’t believe you’re licensed to operate motor vehicles.

Little shame: Maybe it’s just me, but you look stupid when you run (literally sprint) into a Starbucks, leaving your car running, because you seem to think you’ll die if you don’t get your nonfat three-equal extra hot fucking bullshit drink. You look like a real asshole when you berate a young, low-pay cashier for not understanding your order when you speak vaguely, inarticulately, and in between sentences on your cell phone. I see it all the time. Get off the phone. Read the menu. Use the words. It’s not my fault you’re a stupid, impatient asswipe.

Too much money: What the hell do these people do for a living? Where the hell did you get that ring? Those tits? That enormous SUV? Retail service should be compulsory for all Americans. It might build some character. So much money gets pissed away on nonsense. I can’t really preach; I like toys and stuff. But a mocha, a scone, and a drive in a Cadillac Escalade every single day adds up. And still you fuckers don’t tip.

Ah, that’s better. I feel cleansed. No, I don’t claim to be a better person. I just like to bitch. We retail losers have to stick together.