When I picked up Grant tonight
he ran, he smiled, he gurgled
and as we got into the car
he asked for a "lollipop"
which is really a cakepop
from Starbucks
I'm not sure where he gets that...
We headed south
toward our usual coffee shop stop
but turned one light too early
the screams from the backseat
could've woken a sleeping
baby four houses down
Through our small town
on the way to an errand
we passed yet another
Starbucks on the roadside
like a shiny penny
just begging to be noticed
"Mama! Coffee shop!"
I'm reticent to support two coffee shop habits...we keep driving
On the way back home
we drove past again
Feeling tired and charitable
I pulled in
"Mama! Lollipop! Let's get out!"
So we walk the few steps into the
shop crowded with ten-year-olds
'having a coffee break' after school
We wait in line behind them
Flags of indecision waving wildly
above their mussed hair-dos
I spy the menu of monthly deals
Today! Free pastry with purchase of handcrafted beverage
I'm persuaded -- one afternoon chai latte
one FREE pink birthday cake pop
I order
"Ma'am, I'm so sorry. Today isn't March 23. That deal is for March 23 only."
More rosy than red, I apologize
and pull out a couple extra bills
tucked neatly inside my wallet
He bags the cake pop
the other barista prepares the chai
"You know what?"
My eyes chase his
"You're not expecting a deal, but I'm going to give you one"
Oh yeah?
"I'm going to charge you $3.80."
Nice --- the total should be over $5
"And, as a bonus, here are two cake pops instead of one."
Wow. And that is why in the book, "The Starbucks Experience" by Joseph Michelli, there is an entire chapter dedicated to one of their chief operating principles, SURPRISE AND DELIGHT.
Write on,
b
Showing posts with label Starbucks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Starbucks. Show all posts
Friday, March 20, 2015
Monday, March 9, 2015
9: Neutral...
I sit at the table next to them dreaming; words swing and swirl through my mind and then tap out of my fingers and onto the screen. Earbuds full of instrumental hymns nestle my heart and soul as I sit amidst the hubbub at my neighborhood Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon.
A gruff and insincere "Thanks for meeting me here this afternoon" climbs up and over the peacefulness I use my volume toggle to maintain.
I peek over my left shoulder at the two burly men who just sat down and they continue. For a second, I eye the table across the shop and consider moving. After all, I'm here for a reason -- there are no kids, no dishes, no laundry fresh from the dryer to fold -- and there is a to-do list a dozen items long attached to my laptop.
"Are you aware that..."
"Did you know that her boyfriend..."
"I'm not willing to pay more than 13% of that..."
"Is that before taxes or after?"
"I'm not sure about that. Does she know about this?"
"I think we should use a different lawyer in mediation. Not ours, not yours."
"He's really struggling in school. Have you seen his grades?"
"You know, college is coming up..."
"I think we should tell her..."
"Maybe they could rent, but I won't buy something. I won't."
I marvel at their conversation, the pleasantries stuffed into camouflaged overcoats. I marvel at their engaged disengagement, from discussing people that they claim to know...but not really...and from looking at details instead of hearts. I marvel at their rough agreement, that aligns their interests without the luxury of emotionalism and reduces the family's decisions to an attractive bottom line.
I think back to conversations with my friend...who's had the same coffee shop meetings with her husband, his ex-wife, and her family friend. Over and over. And, it's always reduced to numbers, really, under the guise of doing what is best, you know, for the kids.
And these weighty decisions -- the ones that impact someone else's kids -- today they're constructed by the men who play 'Telephone' at the coffee shop.
Only because they are neutral.
Write on,
b
A gruff and insincere "Thanks for meeting me here this afternoon" climbs up and over the peacefulness I use my volume toggle to maintain.
I peek over my left shoulder at the two burly men who just sat down and they continue. For a second, I eye the table across the shop and consider moving. After all, I'm here for a reason -- there are no kids, no dishes, no laundry fresh from the dryer to fold -- and there is a to-do list a dozen items long attached to my laptop.
"Are you aware that..."
"Did you know that her boyfriend..."
"I'm not willing to pay more than 13% of that..."
"Is that before taxes or after?"
"I'm not sure about that. Does she know about this?"
"I think we should use a different lawyer in mediation. Not ours, not yours."
"He's really struggling in school. Have you seen his grades?"
"You know, college is coming up..."
"I think we should tell her..."
"Maybe they could rent, but I won't buy something. I won't."
I marvel at their conversation, the pleasantries stuffed into camouflaged overcoats. I marvel at their engaged disengagement, from discussing people that they claim to know...but not really...and from looking at details instead of hearts. I marvel at their rough agreement, that aligns their interests without the luxury of emotionalism and reduces the family's decisions to an attractive bottom line.
I think back to conversations with my friend...who's had the same coffee shop meetings with her husband, his ex-wife, and her family friend. Over and over. And, it's always reduced to numbers, really, under the guise of doing what is best, you know, for the kids.
And these weighty decisions -- the ones that impact someone else's kids -- today they're constructed by the men who play 'Telephone' at the coffee shop.
Only because they are neutral.
Write on,
b
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