What I can do, however, is force my family to refer to Starbucks as "Insurance," so as not to mutter its name any more than we have to. Although, if you're like my husband, you won't remember that and have no idea what I'm talking about.
What's worse is that I'd been actively avoiding Insurance for over a decade because my white hipster privilege allows me to go to my local coffee shop and work in a locally owned gourmet cheese store without realizing that people sometimes need real life.
The call for an interview came right after we decided that we were going to rent an RV with pretend money and travel around the country eating air until Jaime's work permission from the Department of Immigration went through; we just weren't finding jobs that inspired us and included a Googleesque work environment with full benefits and three months vacation.
I kid you not, my eyes welled up, as I agreed to an interview because we need health insurance no matter how much my socialist Spanish husband doesn't understand it and watched our dreams of bathing in rest stop sinks roll behind me like a giant hub cap.
But I feel like this story will be less painful for both of us if I present this in
WHAT I THOUGHT vs. WHAT I SAID
form. So here goes...
The manager asked for an interview.
What I thought: Oh my god. I have a master's degree. Why the hell do you think I want this job even though I applied for it!?
What I said: Yes, absolutely that works for me.
The manager asked why I think I would make a great Insurance employee.
What I thought: I wouldn't. I am your worst nightmare. You will regret this.
What I said: I'm great with people, and I would represent Insurance proudly.
The manager called to offer me the job.
What I thought: You're freaking joking. You couldn't see through that? This is the worst day of my life.
What I said: Oh my gosh! Thank you so much. I'm excited to start.
A customer orders two white chocolate mochas whole milk with two extra pumps of syrup and FIVE packets of sugar stirred into the drink.
What I thought: Oh, I get it. You want to die. You want to kill yourself, and I am going to help you do it. I watched a documentary, so I know about this.
What I said: Okay! Can I get your name? Your total is a bajillion dollars.
A drive-through customer orders a eioehtetnvrnglakrhaiohgirgrnlgakraghrkahgroiaetaigaigbiarhgklarglargh.
What I thought: I can't do this. I can't do this any more. I hate everything. I'm working a drive-though, and the worst part about it is that it's too hard. At least I'm not wearing a visor.
What I said: I'm sorry. Could you repeat that? It's my first day, and I'm having a hard time locating the buttons.
The drive through customers get angry with me because I ask them to repeat their order.
What I thought: I will come through this window. I will come through this window so fast. I will spit my hang nail into your drink. I will fling this boiling hot fake coffee on your face.
What I said: I'm so sorry about your wait. Enjoy it!
My manager says, "Don't say frap. Frap is the Insurance 'F' word. Don't say it," after I repeated a customer's "frap" order.
What I thought: You wanna know what my F word is? It's fuckstarbucks; that's what it is.
What I said: Really? Okay.
An incredibly rare customer orders a black coffee.
What I thought: Slow clap.
What I said: That's what I drink.
A man lectures my co-worker on the evils of corporations, and tells her that Insurance doesn't pay her enough to put her above the poverty line. She makes fun of him.
What I thought: He's right. I'm leaving with this guy, and we're burning this place to the ground.
What I said: Nothing because she wasn't talking to me.
A group of teenage girls order the most ridiculous, diabetes inducing, prissified drinks possible, and I stumble through finding all their custom shit on the stupid screen.
What I thought: This is not coffee! You are NOT drinking coffee, but you are pretending to drink coffee, and that makes you horrible.
What I said: What's your name? That will be a bajillion dollars.
I could go on and on, but I think you get the gist.
Have you ever felt too good for something, as you're realizing you're not capable of doing it? Guys, working at Insurance is hard. I have been the only adult in a room with 22 kindergartners in paint smocks, and that does not even begin to come close to the stress level I felt taking orders for caramel drizzle on white noise from a never ending line of cars.
I was shown how to make macchiatos, lattes, cappuccinos and cinnamon something somethings. I was shown twice. Can I make any of those things? No.
It made me feel awful. I felt fake, stupid and defeated. And how could I have abandoned my principles so easily? I mean, would I set foot in Hobby Lobby? God's name in vain no.
But I also felt in awe of the women (only women worked there even though the regular men call them "his girls") who not only can make those complicated glorified cups of liquid death but genuinely smile while doing so. They're not stupid and fake. They're really good at the job that they enjoy.
So, the only thing I learned while there is that I'm absolutely not too good to work at Insurance.
If you go to "Insurance", and that's okay if you do even though you'll never catch me dead in another one, please tip them well. That job suuuuuuucks, and they probably hate you.
I usually can't with this, but this is exactly it.
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