An Intern's Open Letter To Starbucks

The true story of what happens when Starbucks turns a summer morning sour.

DISCLAIMER: ALL EVENTS LISTED BELOW ARE BASED ON REAL EVENTS.

Dear Starbucks,

As a female, Northeast, summer intern with a particular affinity for caffeinated beverages on the stroll to my corporate job in the morning, I feel you understand that a large portion of your proceeds come from my overworked and underpaid (but viciously trendy) pocket. Many a time have I been tempted to make my coffee at home for fear that I’d have to start feasting on Ramen Noodles instead of the typical overpriced salads that I am accustomed to—and let’s be honest, after the whole “Chop’t” debacle maybe I should consider it—but NAY, I continue to barter away my college tuition for your iced coffee, which at this point is definitely becoming more ice than coffee. I revel in the feeling that your beverages provide me as I coat my parched throat in the scorching NYC sun, and I often contemplate how much happier of a tiny human I am after I’ve downed a “Grande” iced green—def sweetened—tea.

But today, my friends, I was incredibly let down. As I crossed the street to your store to fulfill my intern duties of buying coffee for my incredibly powerful bosses, I felt a chill in the air. I knew walking into the store that something felt wrong; I should’ve turned around then. But I persevered. Maybe it had something to do with wanting a great letter of recommendation, or perhaps it was related to the crisp credit card stabbing me from my left buttcheek pocket as if screaming, “I MUST BUY SOMETHING”. To be honest, I think it was a mix of both.

Nevertheless, I felt like a pioneer of strength as I stepped up to the counter and announced that I would please like a “tall iced unsweetened tea and a toasted multigrain bagel with butter.” After I had read off the list of my supervisor’s request, I felt accomplished. Because I am unpaid, I feed off of occasional praise, and I was sure that I was going to get an A+ in his eyes for the day.

However, my dreams were soon banished as the woman behind the counter snapped at me, “what flavor?” I was taken aback. My boss hadn’t specified a type of tea, he just said iced tea. “Uhm…what kinds do you have?” I inquired, beginning to shake slightly. The cup of iced coffee I had earlier in the day with a splash of soy milk was beginning to hit me. The cashier rolled her eyes at me, as if exasperated with my antics. “Green, passion or black,” she practically spit. At this point I felt my confidence draining away. There was no way I was getting out of this alive. “I think he wants black…I’m not sure,” I quivered, just trying to get the words out.

At this point in the story, there was still hope for a happy ending. I am a naturally optimistic person, and so I knew there was the possibility that I could turn this around. But as the cashier’s charcoal eyes burned a hole into my soul, I knew I had said the wrong answer. “So…you THINK he wants black?” I can only describe what I felt next in the following way to try to make you fully understand my overwhelming range of emotions:

It’s as if you’re on a first date. You’re both getting to know each other and suddenly he/she asks you a hot button question. Whether it’s about politics, past relationships or whether or not you’re a cat or dog person: you just know there’s no way out. THIS is how I felt. I couldn’t win. I believe the phrase to correlate to this situation is “between a rock and a hard place”, and I was physically smooshed against the rock.

“He wants black,” I stammered, avoiding eye contact. I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eyes, I felt it was almost a sign of aggression. As she practically tossed the broiling hot bagel (really fresh out of the toaster, which was nice) into my outstretched hands and slid the teensy iced tea over to me, I was ready to get out of there ASAP. And quickly, just as a side note, I’d like to point out that your “tall” cups are ironically labeled because truthfully there’s nothing tall about them. Like they’re a baffling oxymoron.

The moment I returned back to my office, I graciously handed the Starbucks goodies over to my boss, and we exchanged a mutual nod. His was of appreciation, and mine was of relief. I knew I could sit down and return to a full day of important activities while mentally preparing myself for when they would next have me run out for lunch. But when he came storming into our “intern cave” one minute later, I was left cowering in fear. “WHY IN GOD’S NAME DID THEY CHARGE ME $10 FOR A BAGEL AND A TINY TEA?!?” (Let’s be real here, that’s way more appropriately named…”tiny tea”. That’s why they pay him the big bucks.)

It was a moment of sheer horror. How could I have forgotten to check the receipt before I left? AND WHY IN GOD’S NAME DID STARBUCKS CHARGE ME $10 FOR BAGEL AND (I’ll be politically correct here) A TALL TEA?! It was an outrage. I gained back my bravery and hobbled in my cork wedges back over to Starbucks with intense purpose. I wouldn’t be embarrassed again: I knew what I had to do.

As I marched to the counter, the same unpleasant cashier glanced in my direction. It was going to be a showdown. I placed the tea and bagel back on the counter and looked up at her; I was fearless. “Pardon me,” I began, trying to be as cool as possible under the circumstances, “I believe you overcharged me for my purchases.” I lightly nudged the bagel, tea and the receipt towards her. “You see,” I continued, “I only ordered a toasted bagel and a Tall tea, you seem to have charged me for three times that much.” She barely looked at me. I could tell things were becoming increasingly tense between us.

“Ya. I know.” she stated. The situation was unclear. I cleared my throat and once again pushed the carbo-loaded breakfast in her direction, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” It was like trying to squeeze juice from an empty Capri Sun. After a couple more coughs and a violent pretend-wheeze she finally looked up at me. Her stare was cold as ice as she responded with one of the most bewildering answers, “It’s so you can get the discounted tea later.” She then pointed to the bottom of the receipt where it said, “$2 Grande Tea after 2 pm” and went back to ignoring me.

You see why I must have looked befuddled:

1. I already bought a tea. I don’t need another tea. Plus you clearly overcharged me for the first one.

2. That in NO way explains why I was overcharged. Like, not even a little bit.

I was exasperated. I wanted my boss’s money back, and I wanted to be able to walk back into the office with my head held high. So I continued on like the champion my parents raised me to be. “I would like to be refunded please. I do not need another tea. You see, I have a tea. And I seem to have paid too much for it.” This time her stare struck like daggers to my stomach. “You weren’t overcharged. It’s a fake receipt.”

Ah, I was not aware we were playing some sort of pseudo-monopoly with fake money and fake people and a seriously REAL WASTE OF TIME. Up to this point I had been kind, cordial and, dare I say it, well-mannered. But I had it. In a half yell, half suffocated scream, the following statement came out: “WELL PLEASE TAKE YOUR FAKE RECEIPT BACK AND GIVE ME A REAL RECEIPT SO I DO NOT GET FIRED THIS AFTERNOON.” In about 5 seconds my tears were about to be streamed across your floor faster than the condensation from the iced black tea.

Without another word she signaled to another associate, and from there, things continued to spiral downhill. It took a following 10 minutes to print be out a receipt that showed just exactly what I had purchased. And it was only then we realized that I had been overcharged for the “Tall” tea and that they scanned my card for a “Grande” instead. See? Even your employees know the Tall is too damn small.

I walked back across the street with a heavy heart. This morning was upsetting, draining and mortifying. I have a dream for you Starbucks. I dream that one day you won’t up your prices so intensely that I’m questioning whether or not you’ll dent my bank statement after a week. I dream that you’ll teach your cashiers to be kind to all people, regardless of how many clients have complained about their beverage that day. And most importantly, I dream that you’ll allow each person to leave your store with their dignity intact as you wave goodbye and wish them a happy day.

I’m willing to continue buying your delicious coffee if you’re willing to help me see a change. Let me help you become a better business, Starbucks. This is America, let’s strive for a better tomorrow. Don’t force me to take my business to Dunkin’.

Xoxo,

A loyal customer (for now.)