Last Thursday my husband and I had an inopportune meeting with a real estate agent to discuss a counter offer on a property I’m interested in.

[Side note: If my writing has seemed rushed or disjointed lately, it’s because I’ve been in the process of buying a small apartment building and I’m busy as hell.]

Anyway, we get into town a good half an hour early, so I suggest we grab a cup of coffee while we wait. There’s a Starbucks nearby, so we stopped there.

Almost immediately, it’s our turn to order. However, it suddenly occurs to me that I have nothing but $50 bills in my pocket and I failed to bring any sort of debit card.

I turn to my husband, “Did you bring any money?”

“Nah. Left my wallet at home.”

“Shit.”

The dude who is waiting on us seems friendly enough, so I shoot him my most apologetic smile.

“Is it possible for you to break a $50 bill?” I ask.

He hesitates a little and then says, “Maybe. You might get a lot of ones though.”

“That’s OK,” I reassure him.

He roots through his drawer a little. Finally, he looks at me sheepishly and says, “I’m sorry, I can’t break it.”

“That’s OK,” I say again, “I’ll just check in my car and see if I can find some change.”

“Well, what were you going to order?” he asks.

“Two small cups of coffee.” I answer.

“Well, if that’s all you’re going to get, I’ll just give it to you for free.”

“Oh no, that’s OK,” I tell him.

A girl behind him appears with two cups of coffee and plops them down on the counter in front of us. The guy points to them and says, “See? They’ve already been poured. Go ahead and take them. It’s no big deal.”

So there I am, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world because I don’t even have any loose bills to tip him with.

My husband and I grab our coffee, thank the counter guy profusely and head on over to the cream and sugar table to fix it up. Inside, I am silently fretting because I know damned well that our ‘thanks’ will not pay the guy’s rent. It’s not like he can call up his landlord one day and say, ‘I don’t have the money to pay you, sir. But if it helps any, two of my customers said I was the nicest barista they’ve ever met!’

Suddenly, I get an idea. I snatch up one of the pamphlets sitting on the counter and start flipping through it.

“What are you reading?” my husband asks.

“I’m looking for the Starbucks corporate number. I’m going to call them and compliment the guy who just waited on us.”

“That’s a bad idea. What if they end up firing the guy for giving us free coffee?”

I hesitate for a minute because I can totally see a greedy corporate giant like Starbucks doing something that underhanded. Then, I say, “Well, I won’t mention anything about the free coffee. I’ll just tell them he gave us really great service.”

“I still don’t think you should bother with it,” he insists.

“Seriously, that guy is a barista at Starbucks. If I had a shitty fucking job like that, I’d want someone to call up the corporate office and compliment me.”

“Do what you want then.”

“Thank you. I will.”

I find the number, call it up, and navigate though this horrendously long computer system in order to reach a real, live, somewhat cognizant human being. I tell the operator that I’d like to comment about the service I received at a Starbucks. She fakes like she can’t fucking wait to hear what I’m about to say and takes down all of my information: name, address, location of the store I visited, time of day, that sort of shit. Then, her computer freezes. So I have to repeat all of my information. Then it freezes again. Patiently, I repeat all of my information for the third time because it’s really important to me that I follow through with this even though I’m dying to scream, “WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HARD TO LEAVE A FUCKING COMPLIMENT?”

At one point, she asks me the name of the gentleman who waited on me and I say, “Shit. I don’t know it. Hold on, I’ll find out.”

I walk back into the store and whisper to a guy sweeping the floor. “Who is that guy?” I ask while I point to the guy who waited on me.

“Uh…that’s Keith.” He says.

“Keith! His name was Keith!” I announce to the operator. I also mouth the words ‘Thank you’ to the dude sweeping the floor.

Finally, the operator finishes taking down all of my information and she is ready for my comments. “Keith was very helpful and friendly and gave me some of the best service I have ever received at any food establishment,” I tell her triumphantly.

The operator seems a little taken aback; it was almost as if she expected an 2 hour long rant about an empty half n’ half container or something.

“Well…that’s great,” she replies, “It’s not often people call in to say something nice.”

I figured. People are such fucking assholes sometimes. I shoot my husband a nasty look because he tried to talk me out of calling. He rolls his eyes in response.

But here’s where things started getting wonky…

“Do you mind if Starbucks sends you a coupon thanking you for your call today?” the operator asks me.

“Uh….why?” I ask, confused, “I’m not complaining. I already had a really great experience…” Not to mention, I already got free coffee.

“I know. We just like sending you a little gift to thank you for your feedback.”

Maybe I’m being petty, but I fucking hate the whole coupon thing. I feel like when I receive one, it invalidates every comment I’ve made. It’s almost as if the fat cats are saying to me, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’re totally taking your comment seriously. Now please just take your coupon and shut the fuck up because we both know that’s what you really wanted.’

Well I, for one, didn’t want a fucking coupon. I wanted to do something nice for the guy who waited on me.

My husband whispers, “I told you so. They probably won’t even tell that guy’s manager you called.”

Desperate to prove him wrong, I ask the operator, “What will happen to Keith now that I’ve called?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, will he get anything? Like, you know, a small bonus? Or will my call at least be taken into consideration when it comes time for him to receive a pay raise?”

“Oh! Absolutely!” she responds, “At the end of every month, we fax these reports back to the stores. Then, they hang them up on the employee boards and say, ‘Way to go!’”

A Way-to-Go board.

A Way-to-Fucking-Go board.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, STARBUCKS? I JUST SPENT 25 MINUTES ON THE PHONE SO YOU CAN PIN MY COMMENTS UP ON A WAY-TO-FUCKING-GO BOARD? KEITH WILL NOT GET ANY SORT OF BONUS OR LARGER PAY RAISE OR ANYTHING OF VALUE? INSTEAD, HE’LL JUST RECEIVE A FUCKING THUMBS UP FROM HIS DOUCHBAG MANAGER THAT WILL BE TOTALLY FORGOTTEN 5 MINUTES LATER SHOULD HE DROP A PLATE OF FUCKING PASTRIES? I HATE YOU, STARBUCKS, YOU CONDESCENDING GREEDY FUCKS! I HATE YOU!

If anyone is wondering why people in food service or retail always look so goddamn miserable, my phone call with Starbucks should put your mind at ease. Apparently, a multi-billion dollar company like Starbucks can’t be bothered to shoot an employee who goes above and beyond for customers a $10 bill to thank them for their hard work. Instead, they continue to get rich off of their backs while simultaneously “rewarding” them with meaningless gestures that hold no value in the real world. Those fucking bastards.

I held my temper with the poor operator because it’s really not her fault that Starbucks policy sucks ass. Towards the end of the call, she asked me if I’d be interested in doing a 10 minute survey where I describe my experience with her on the phone. At this point, I’d been on the phone for well over a half an hour, so I said, ‘Why not?’ The survey was incredibly pointless and tedious, but I finished it anyway. I gave the girl top scores. Now maybe she’ll get her name on a Way-to-Go board, too. Yay.

I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.