Drinking Coffee Elsewhere
I always get the staredown from the clerk at the downtown coffee shop/Christian t-shirt emporium. I think she must have figured out (certainly not by asking, since she hardly deigns to talk to mere customers) that I'm a soulless atheistic wanderer who mocks her shop in my blog. Seriously, she looks at me like I'm some kind of dog-raping human abstraction. I've been going to this shop every Sunday for the last six months or so to read my NYT and send my blood sugar into the stratosphere with a morning mocha. I listen to this clerk ask other customers if they'd like their card punched while I, loyal customer of many months, have yet to be asked if I want one. Then, when all her temp customers have gone to continue their trips to Vegas, I sit in the light of the front window and try to read as she clicks through the first ten seconds of every song on her laptop, which is conveniently connected to the shop's speakers, so not only do I get to hear what is playing in the background (usually Coldplay or some craptastic Christian acoustic tripe band--can you tell the difference?), but I get to play "name that tune" with the clerk's collection of downloads.
So last Sunday I finally broke down and went to the other coffee shop in town, much further out of my way and annoyingly close to the Wal-Mart parking lot. But my reception there was instantly more welcoming than all of my previous visits to the downtown coffee shop combined. The first thing the clerk did after taking my order was to set me up with a punchcard. (I don't know why these shops don't just reduce the already grossly exaggerated prices of their mochas rather than wait for me to buy 10 of them before getting a measly 10% discount, but I digress.) I went to try out the comfortability of the overstuffed chair in the corner of the shop when the clerk brought my drink to me. To me! Here was a bold new step in customer service. Actual service!
But the thing that finally sold me on the true worthiness of this shop was when the clerks started discussing the songs playing on the oldies radio station in the background. (No fucking Coldplay or any of those other coffee shop cliche bands--no, no! Here we had the Eagles and Peter Frampton and the Doobie Brothers, all without subliminal choruses urging me to come to Jesus.) Turns out one of the clerks not only knew every word to "Build Me Up, Buttercup," but she unashamedly professed that it had been her favorite song as a kid. The humanity! Then, when Tony Orlando & Dawn came on, she offered her interpretation of "Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree" by stating that the singer's long-suffering partner had every right to dump the jerk while he was still in the pokey. If she had suddenly burst out into a round of "Fuck Da Police," I couldn't have been more delighted. I was home at last.
Meanwhile, spring break started today. Since Friday, we have had more snowfall in the last four days than during the last four months. What is this place?
So last Sunday I finally broke down and went to the other coffee shop in town, much further out of my way and annoyingly close to the Wal-Mart parking lot. But my reception there was instantly more welcoming than all of my previous visits to the downtown coffee shop combined. The first thing the clerk did after taking my order was to set me up with a punchcard. (I don't know why these shops don't just reduce the already grossly exaggerated prices of their mochas rather than wait for me to buy 10 of them before getting a measly 10% discount, but I digress.) I went to try out the comfortability of the overstuffed chair in the corner of the shop when the clerk brought my drink to me. To me! Here was a bold new step in customer service. Actual service!
But the thing that finally sold me on the true worthiness of this shop was when the clerks started discussing the songs playing on the oldies radio station in the background. (No fucking Coldplay or any of those other coffee shop cliche bands--no, no! Here we had the Eagles and Peter Frampton and the Doobie Brothers, all without subliminal choruses urging me to come to Jesus.) Turns out one of the clerks not only knew every word to "Build Me Up, Buttercup," but she unashamedly professed that it had been her favorite song as a kid. The humanity! Then, when Tony Orlando & Dawn came on, she offered her interpretation of "Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree" by stating that the singer's long-suffering partner had every right to dump the jerk while he was still in the pokey. If she had suddenly burst out into a round of "Fuck Da Police," I couldn't have been more delighted. I was home at last.
Meanwhile, spring break started today. Since Friday, we have had more snowfall in the last four days than during the last four months. What is this place?
posted by Chazzbot at 10:54 PM
1 Comments:
that really sucks. But your leaving the first coffee shop in protest, other than being her goal, is meaningless to that shop (and to that coffee clerk) unless you tell them why. I'd say write a letter letting them know about the crappy service, and the sense of being excluded as a customer by that clerk. That's bullshit, brother!
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