Glass Maze Every jumbled pile of person

Worst Possible Starbucks Patron

When I first started working in DC, one of the first things I noticed was how nasty your average Starbucks customer is down here. You see it over and over again: the guy who stands in line oozing impatience, ostentatiously checking his watch, sighing loudly, staring daggers at helpless barristas. I was saddened by it. I was appalled. I was outraged.

Well, I have become that person.

Maybe it’s a desire to fit in. Maybe it’s the toxic effects of the hurly-burly atmosphere down here. Or maybe there’s been a latent Starbucks Asshole in me all along, just waiting to someone to come along and unlock it. Whatever the reason — I have zero patience for even the slightest delay these days.

One of the things I’ve discovered since my transition into Asshole is that there is a certain type of Starbucks patron who will always trigger one’s worst impulses. I call this person WPSP: Worst Possible Starbucks Patron. You know who I’m talking about. That glacial dawdling figure in line in front of you, sucking up vast acreages of time for absolutely no good reason.

You can spot a WPSP a mile away, and you will do everything in your power to get in line in front of them, knocking over old ladies and baby carriages and baby seals in the process. You will always fail, though. The cosmos does not favor Starbucks Assholes.

Here’s a profile of your typical WPSP:

General Characteristics

Usually a middle-aged woman with a fresh countenance, a kindly, open demeanor and a slightly ditsy, friendly, abstracted laugh. The kind of person who’d you love to meet outside the context of the line you’re standing in — but who, in that context, is the purest possible distillation of evil.

Drink Selection Methodology

Not so much a methodology as a kind of drawn-out exploration of options by committee — where the members of said committee consist entirely of the warring factions of indecision inside her head.

Worst Possible Starbucks Patron could be standing in line for an hour, with the drink menu in plain sight, possibly even talking over drink options with her friend (there’s always a friend). It doesn’t matter. Upon arriving at the register and being asked for her order, her eyes will widen in shock, and she will say something like: “Order? Me?” As if the whole notion of ordering a drink at an establishment whose sole purpose is to sell you a drink is so completely alien as to bewilder the entire field of human endeavor.

And then she will step back, and, with her hand resting lightly on her chest, stare up at the very large menu. She will say things like: “Oh, goodness! There’s so much to choose from!”, and “I wonder what a latte is?” and “Oh, I love cinnamon” and so on. These are delaying tactics. She is marking time until the decision engine in her brain chugs lugubriously to life, and begins the long winnowing process.

Pastry-Selection Methodology

This one is a killer, because, generally-speaking, WPSP wasn’t even thinking pastries when he walked in. At least with the drinks there was a vague background notion that a drink would be nice, so we weren’t starting from zero. But pastries … well, that’s a different world. A yummy world. In a display case. This is the point at which the demeanor of the Starbucks Asshole slips from annoyance into anguish.

Obliviousness

Another mark of the WPSP is her complete unawareness of the inconvenience she is causing you. The line could be stretching out the door and into the street. Three women could be giving birth behind her while a death metal Mariachi band plays Metallica/Sinatra mashups and soldiers exchange mortar fire with pan-dimensional hyper-intelligent Cthulu abominations. She is aware of none of it. Her entire attention is focused on the challenge of reducing the vast panoply of drink options available to her into that single, perfect choice that will bring total happiness and contentment to her corner of the universe.

Payment Method

This is perhaps the cruelest stage of all. WPSP has finally settled on a drink. WPSP has made his pastry selection. WPSP has completed the ordering process. You breathe a sigh of relief. You will soon be able to step up to the register and conduct the 15 second transaction you have spent the last quarter hour waiting for. He still hasn’t paid, of course – but, really, how hard can that be?

Well, all kinds of hard. There are three, and only three, scenarios here:

1. WPSP pulls out a swollen change purse from his bag and begins to laboriously count out the $6.32 he owes. He will have to sift through buttons and charm bracelets and old pictures and tiny desiccated rodent-balls to arrive at exact change. But he will arrive at exact change, by god.
2. WPSP pulls out a two thousand dollar bill and hands it sheepishly to the barrista. And then sheepishly asks for his change in ones, pennies, and deutchmarks.
3. WPSP pulls out a handful of half-used gift cards, and loudly announces how completely unaware he is of how much each one holds. So we’ll have to go through all of them, ha ha. Inevitably, twenty gift cards later, there is still a balance remaining, at which point WPSP will move on to option (1) or (2), above.

The WPSP experience is an exhausting time for Starbucks Assholes. I had one just this morning, and I’m still recovering. It’s enough to make one wonder whether life might be better for everyone if one would just stop being an asshole.

This is why I would love to be able to register my favorite drink, and pastry, on my Starbucks gift card, walk into the store, swipe it in a sleek, applesk self serve terminal, and walk immediately to the barista pickup area. I wouldn’t actually have to talk or interact with anyone, which frankly is everyone’s best interest until I have had some caffeine.