The Green Siren: One is One Less

As I cleaned the women’s restroom at Starbucks the other day I made a mental note of all the things I’d gone through that day.  I broke a donut right off the bat this morning as I was putting the pastry case together, which I couldn’t sell and I just didn’t want to eat at 4:15 in the morning.  I don’t do well when I eat sugar in the mornings, and I’ve always known this.  I indulged in classic coffee cake with Emily the other morning and I’ve got to admit, it’s my favorite coffee cake now.  When it’s fresh, it’s moist and the crumble has a lovely gritty crunch with a hint of cinnamon.  But an hour or so after that, I started to feel sick to my stomach, and I felt my blood surging with a vengeance through my veins.  I started chugging water and hoped the rush wouldn’t last long.  I can’t remember if it did or not; we got our morning rush of customers and I forgot all about it.  So it all worked in the end.  So this morning, I refrained.  Had it been something more appetizing to me though, I have to admit, I might not have refrained.  Like the banana chocolate chip coffee cake?  Had I needed to mark that out, I might have changed my mind.  But then again, it’s got a little more substance than a glazed donut.  That makes a difference too. 

So, after the donut, I made myself three shots in a tall plastic cup when I first got to work this morning because I left without getting my grande size plastic cup out of the dishwasher.  I reused that cup for two beverages, each of which I drank half of.  I then made myself another drink in an iced grande cup when I left.  This hurts as I put it down.  I so give into the immediate temptations sometimes.  I have a thought for a drink, I make it on a break.  Or if we’re slow.  Really, I thought as a little kid I’d never work anywhere around food because I’d eat it all the time.  Then, of course, I wind up working at Starbucks, around not only food but sinfully delicious food, and coffee, one of my all-time favorite things.  I really should commit to simply drinking iced coffees when I’m on the clock.  If I want a latte, I can make it for after work.  And this all sounds doable now, but when it’s in the moment, and nothing sounds better than soy, hazelnut, and mocha mixed with rich espresso, I go for it.  Then after, I usually feel bad.  Maybe I don’t always feel bad, or angry at myself- though sometimes I can be, if I’m having a bad day, am stressed, or whatever- but I always think back on it and wonder, was that necessary?  Was it worth it to me what it took to get to me?  It didn’t hitch a ride on the back of a butterfly, that’s for sure.  I hope to tip the balance and say yes much more than I say no.

But along with those things, I dumped a venti mocha frappuccino down the drain.  I was hoping to assist Emily and get her frappuccino made for her.  I didn’t have any customers at the front and I heard her say into the headset ‘a venti mocha frappuccino?’ so I made a venti mocha frappuccino for her.  DTO’s run around like mad people in the morning.  They take orders in headset, put them in, make beverages, get pastries, get coffee, talk to customers, and make hot beverages if necessary.  It’s a crazy job.  Emily had this job while one of the girls went on break.  I was trying to help her out.  Luckily we were slow so my mistake didn’t put too big of a damper on her flow, but still.  I placed the mocha frappuccino on the counter by the drive window with pride, expecting her face to break out into a big silly grin as she calls me a big nicey.  Instead, she looks at cup, cocks her head to the side, then points to the CRF marking on the cup as she asks me, ‘Is that frappuccino caramel?’     

I suppose if I’m going to help, I better be sure to listen.  I had heard her correctly the first time; she had said mocha, but there’s a reason we repeat back orders two and three times.  Maybe you changed your mind mid-order.  Maybe I heard you wrong.  The list goes on and on.  We repeat it back to you, always.  Yep, I didn’t wait for that verification.  I went with the first thing I heard.  So, had to toss away that one. 

Yes, it’s only one.  But, it’s one.  Customers come for their one drink a day.  Many more come for their second and third drinks, but for those who come to enjoy their one drink a day, what if that one I’d tossed down the drain meant that one of my customers couldn’t enjoy their drink that day?  That one is made up somewhere along the way, isn’t it?  We make mistakes, and we always will.  But I recognize in myself my carelessness, and I’d like to improve.  I’d like to improve because as I get better, I tread a little less heavily on the Earth.  This is important to me now.  And when I fall short, or at least fall shorter than what I think I am capable of, I allow myself to feel disappointed in myself.  I’m not sure if that’s helping me as I make changes or not; I think the best thing I can do is reflect, because that keeps me aware.  And then, with practice I bring that awareness in every moment so that when one arises in which I must decide which way to go, yes or no, I’m clear enough to say no.  I’m strong enough to resist.  I know what soy mochas taste like.  I know what frappuccinos taste like.  Cold and creamy caramel and coffee sounds so good right now ’cause I’m sweating a bit after running back and forth on the floor for forty-five minutes straight, but is that one taste I’ll squeeze in between that rush and the one walking through the doors worth the one-time use of a cup?  Does that one cup even matter?

To someone somewhere else, it does.  To many someone’s it does, because this paper cup in the trash full of frappuccino I thought I’d get to could mean the loss of a home to a villager living in a forest suffering from deforestation.  For now, my hand releasing the incorrectly marked cup into the trash represents villagers who have lost homes, birds and reptiles who have lost homes in their trees and in the entire ecosystem around those trees, the loss of clean water and increased pollution.  I do have my research to do on this place, and I’ll be sure to comment on what I find but for now, I wonder.  I do, I wonder.   And this is how I wonder now, as a result of exploring far off places.  I’ve heard stories from cotton farmers in India who have lost relatives to suicide.  Cotton, oil, forests, all of these resources come from somewhere, which are places in themselves.  We can share this entire planet, but right now, we’re not.  Not when I can throw cup after cup away, and past date pastry after past date pastry away and others can starve, others can lose their ancestral lands when forests are cleared so we can use the trees.  I know it’s not all that simple, and it’s a lot to take in and keep close when I perform my barista duties on a busy Saturday morning, but I want to try.  And it’s not much, but if this caught on and my store got to the point where all of its baristas shared the passion I do for reducing waste here- and this is me not even doing as much as I’ve heard of many many baristas around the country doing- we could keep some serious weight out of the trash.  And we could keep those who are so distant from us we aren’t even aware of their existence a bit closer to us, because we just never know on whom and how it could have an impact in the world.  As for me, I’d rather have as many of mine be good as I can possibly manage.

The Green Siren: North Campus

Estella, my old car, greets me as I sit down at a table on the patio outside my Starbucks next to the Port of Subs, Tropical Smoothie, the adorable locally owned bakery Leopold’s, and Pizza Hut.  I’ve spent countless hours of my life as an adolescent, young adult and transitioning adult here.  When I now drive Grace Kelly, or Gracie who now wears the BUGABRI license plate, Estella was my first car, a green Beetle and the original BUGABRI.  And there she sits, across from me, or at least a symbol of her, as I take my place today on this patio filled with fond memories of love and comfort, and full of unexpected and treasured memories I’m making as I live my life today. 

I look around and I think, here I am again.  I work across the street from my high school where I spent the best overall time of my life thus far, and I used to come on many a study outing, coffee date, first date, and coffee break during high school.  I always came back during college and afterwards; my parents have been coming here consistently, and by consistently I mean daily, for about four years.  That means they’re a pair of regulars, and they knew the baristas all here.  They chat, show my parents pictures of their kids, and all that.  It makes sense, though, doesn’t it?  You have a relationship with these people who give you your coffee every day.  You see us every single day.  For some, seeing us is the highlight of your day.  Maybe not seeing my face but receiving in your hand from mine that extra hot soy latte makes your day.  My Mom calls Starbucks the Mother Ship.  This store is our home.  And we know the people in our home. 

And those who have been here the longest know me, by way of my parents’ recounting of my travels to them.  And now, since spending time at home after the college and first world travel years, it’s the place through which I’ve helped define myself by asking, by seriously considering the challenging questions I’ve been asking myself for years: about responsibility, about relationships, about the world, about my place in it.  In this coffee house, my local Starbucks, I’ve grown up.  I traveled the world, and now I’ve come home, to my local Vegas Starbucks, lovingly dubbed North Campus.

I worked a stint at the Starbucks in Lake Forest, Illinois where I went to college.  It was my first job outside of working at my father’s office, and I loved it.  I also worked there at a critical time period of college for me; critical in that I shoved a lot of experiences and lessons into a short time frame, and yet I absolutely loved that time of my life.  I think that’s why I knew I wanted to work at this Starbucks, because this kind of gig, where I get to smile and chat with people all day long that also keeps me busy, helps me feel productive and happy, like I felt then and remember feeling so good about.  Ever since Lake Forest in the fall of 2006, I’ve found myself aspiring to that feeling of satisfaction in my life.  Perhaps that satisfaction could grow and mature and I’ll receive it from other things in the future, but for now I’ve returned to that place that provides stability and even more importantly for me, confidence.

All I’ve these things, my existential questions, my soul’s yearnings, my heart’s ponderings, my approaches to social and environmental complexities, I’ve written about in some form over the years at this Starbucks.  I’m really connected this particular store, so I think it’s important that I take a look at what my involvement in it looks like.  I try to remain informed in an era of globalization, and that means I have to know that all the things I get for cheap come from somewhere else for cheaper, which extends it’s fingers into all the various issues of environment, social, and business issues. 

For me, I don’t want to so much look at the roles of big institutions in globalization, though arguments may come up as I ponder and reflect; I want to look at what my role behind the counter as a girl from Vegas who cares about the environment and works as a barista looks like.  How many times a day do I think two and three times before picking u pa cup?  How many times do I not think at all about it about snagging a cup for a doppio or some extras.  Throwing all those past date sandwiches and pastries away; flashbacks of sitting amongst my peers in Washington, DC listening to a man tell us how he came to be homeless after a successful career as a capitol police officer.  It can happen to anyone; staying awake nights on the streets, sleeping in parks during the day, not knowing where food was coming from.  I’ve got plenty, with nothing to do with it.

I think of animals, of cows and chickens and pigs confined and crammed one on top of the other to supply enough sustenance for our insatiable demands for food I have to throw away at the end of the day.  I don’t close as often anymore, so I don’t actually mark the breakfast sandwiches out anymore, but I see what it represents when my manager sits on the floor and takes the trays of past date sandwiches out and replaces them with fresh.  And yet, I participate.  Willingly.  I need a job, I really like my job, and I often enjoy the benefits of these systems; I like how our stuff tastes just as much as the next guy.  I’ve been drinking it for ten, eleven years now.  I love it, and I love this place.  I just don’t always love my actions here.

I’m sitting inside now at a table in the corner, the prime location I’ve been informed by a gray-haired man with a laptop the a leather armchair across from me.  I’m eating an egg-white and spinach wrap that Jackie heated for me.  I’m drinking a whole milk latte (yeah, those prior posts about veganism?  Thoughts still on my mind, but I’m not currently fully practicing) with cinnamon dolce, white mocha and mocha, with cinnamon sprinkles on top.  It’s iced, and I like using the little straw.  Some people like big straw with their smaller drinks and small straws with their bigger drinks.  Personal preferences.  But yes, the sweetness of the drink sounds icky as I write it but it tastes good.  I’ve got a sweet tooth, and a sweet tooth with coffee is wonderful.  I indulged today because Krista’s creative with drinks and I asked her to make me something tasty.  Other than that, I’m typically an iced coffee drinker.  Or I make a soy latte.  But yes, even when I don’t work here, I spend time here.  I take meals here.  I receive financial compensation.  My commitment to this place knows few bounds.  So, how committed can I remain to another partner of mine, the good ol’ Earth?

Not as committed as I’d like, that’s for sure.  But isn’t there always some room in the cup for improvement?