Friends of this web site will remember a radio show a couple weeks back where I spoke about a Starbucks incident.
In Brief:
Men’s room lock broken
Woman’s personal sense of right and wrong broken
Me breaking my streak of not seeing a urinating vagina live
I expect these kinds of incidents from your lesser coffee houses, your Seattle’s Best (by the way, is Seattle aware of the existence of this chain? What are they actively doing about it?). But not Starbucks.
I’m afraid Starbucks has become invaded by trash. What was once a proud institution where you could go and sit with a computer and have people mock you for writing things in public has now turned into a stop on the way to taking a shift manning a still in the back woods somewhere.
Proof? Okay, the drive-thru. Starbucks should not have a drive-thru. Drive-thrus are for the lazy. And possibly the handicapped, although I would argue that you might as well take the time to wheel yourself in the front door. If you are in a wheelchair, are you ever really late? Can anyone ever give you shit for being 15-40 minutes late? And can’t you perpetually respond with, “Oh, sorry. I got up from the couch and jumped in my car. Which takes me about 90 minutes, asshole”?
Also, my Starbucks of choice is next to a Cricket. Not the bug, the store. Believe me, if I had a choice of navigating past a giant Cricket or walking one inch inside a Cricket store, the choice would be easy. I don’t know what happens inside a Cricket store, but I can tell you that outside you see a shitload of beat-up cars filled with either kids or elderly people who may or may not be alive. Just baking for the summer, waiting while their idiot relation does something in Cricket, probably something that involves putting music on a mobile phone. A truly worthwhile pursuit.
And then today, this.
In case you’re not sure, that’s a penny. Yes, I know it looks mostly like Pac-Man’s mummified corpse between the color and the bite taken out of it. But I assure you, this is American currency. Or was.
There are two real problems here.
One, I don’t want to be at an establishment where the customer base owns this kind of money, let alone brings it in and somehow PAYS with it. People shouldn’t even have this, and I sure as shit shouldn’t.
Which brings me to the second bring problem. When that motherfucker behind the register handed me this, I saw in his eyes that he knew it was wrong. That he knew I had every right to tell him to go fuck himself and fling this penny into their creamer carafe (which needs to be changed out more often because that shit starts to stink).
I just don’t know Starbucks. We’re not broken up yet. I’ve got too much invested in this and I know you have it in you. But it’s time to shape up. This is your wake up call. Because young Pete might have stuck it out with you, going through thick and thin in this relationship. But older Pete knows that sometimes doing that, what feels like being supportive is really enabling and the only thing I can do to help you is leave.
Let’s just make sure this doesn’t happen again. And if I see another woman’s vagina at Starbucks, let’s make sure it’s from a tasteful piece of art or because someone accidentally sent me a dirty pic meant for someone else, a situation that you’re not in control of and I’m totally fine with.