Actual conversation I had at register:
βHi, welcome to [Starbucks]! What can I get you, today?β
βHow much is it to fill a Venti with Espresso?β
βA venti cup. How much to fill it with Espresso?β
βOh. uh. Well, itβd be I supposeβ¦ I only have a button for a Quad. I donβt have special pricing for twenty ounces of espresso in a singleβ¦ drink.β
βPrice is the furthest thing from my mind right now. How many βadd shotsβ is that?β
*deep breath of fear*Β βItβd be a quad with,β *clears throat*Β βuh, sixteen additional shots of espresso. But, maβam, I should tell you that the shots will start to get really bitter if they have to sit and wait for us to pull twenty of them-β
βTaste means nothing to me.β
At this point I am truly fearing for my very existence in the presence of what must clearly be an eldritch being.
βOh. Well, okay.β I put on my absolute best customer service smile to hide my terror and accept that I must face this dragon, fae, or demon with dignity.Β βWe can certainly get that for you! The price will be _____.β
She begins to pay, I shit thee not, with golden Sacajawea dollar coins. We are a block from Wall Street, and this eldritch demi-being is paying for an unholy elixer with golden coins. My life will end soon, I am sure of it.
βDo you still have theΒ βAdd Energyβ packets?β
My heart began to race at this request.Β βYes maβam.β
βHow many can I add?β
Futile though it is, at least I know the rote response to this.Β βFor health reasons, we wonβt add more than one per drink and we cannot sell the packets individually.β
I alter the order and tell her the new price. She pays, dumps the change and five golden dollars into the tip box. I write the order on the venti cup and pass it silently to the girl working the hot beverage station. Normally we called and pass, but this was β¦ not something to be spoken aloud.
My fellow takes the cup, not thinking anything of the minor break with protocol, until she sees the order. She stares at me.Β βNo.β
The woman, which I call her for no other greater insight into her terrifying being is within my grasp, simply stands on the other side and says, calmly but with a commanding tone I expect of Admirals in bad movies,Β βYes.β
My fellow barista pales before her task. But we are dutiful, we are true to our task, great though it may be. She sets about clearing the two brand new Mastrenaβs of all distraction, and sets two tall cups in the ready position. The energy packet is emptied into the venti cup, and the shots begin pouring.Β
The barista was damn near shaking. This womanβs gaze felt like the fires of the sun. Finally, the shots are pulled, the cup is filled, and the hand off takes place.
Our visiting Incomprehensible takes it to our milk bar and adds a dollop of cream. Satisfied, she proceeds to down what must have been half the damn cup.
Then she smiled at us, like a benediction and I was honestly filled with joy. And horror. She left, and we knew nothing more of her after that.
When I talk with other former employees, we quickly begin talking aboutΒ βThe Companyβ as if weβd never left, perhaps knowing that part of our soul still powers that awesome and terrible corporate machine. And when I share this story, other Baristas at first act shocked but quickly settle and comes the chorus,Β
βYeah, I had one like that.β
gummygunk
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gracieabrams
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
