Adventures in Ordering Coffee

Despite by recent sciatica nerve issues, I was feeling well enough today to tackle some outdoor work at my wife's family property today. I spent several hours cutting tree branches away from power lines; stretching out from the tops of ladders, attempting to dodge branches, live wires, and chainsaws Occasionally I got nailed by the falling limbs and discovering the harsh reality that gravity will indeed not spare me from falling back to earth even if there are thorny holly branches and rocks beneath me.

By late afternoon, I can hardly move. My back, hands, and feet are killing me. The fresh cuts on my knuckles and forearms are still oozing blood even after I have washed them. My arms and legs are covered in bruises and I'm generally feeling beat to a pulp.

I need a pick-me-up. It's about 7:15 in the evening and I haven't had coffee or food since I left Bella Espresso in Hillsboro, OR (my normal espresso joint) around noon. But I'm not near Bella. I'm at Cedar Hills Crossing, in Beaverton, several miles away. So where do I get coffee? How about New Seasons Market? Eh...their coffee is just so-so. It's supplied by Stumptown Roasters. Passable, but not my favorite. I look around for a better option. Borders Café? I don't think so. Then I see Powell's Books. They have a World Cup inside! Yes! Quality espresso within walking distance.

Looking forward to some World Cup java, I limp up onto the sidewalk, avoid some moron that doesn't see the logic in actually facing the direction she's walking, and enter World Cup Café. There's a young girl working there, quite pretty, and she's chatting it up with a couple of patrons. I walk up to counter and she greets me. After exchanging pleasantries I proceed to order a shot in the dark.

"A what?"

A shot in the dark.

There's a confused look on her face. She bits her lip and looks around, frowning.

"Oh! You just want a shot of espresso?"

No, a I want a shot in the dark.

She still looks confused. I explain that a shot in the dark is a drip coffee with a shot of espresso dropped into it. Eventually she seems to finally grasp the concept; she now understands what a shot in the dark is. She starts to prep my drink.

However, she still appears confused.

Ok, it's been a hard day for me. I'm willing to admit that by this point I'm biting my tongue, resisting the urge to unfurl a Dennis Leary-esq rant about how amazingly enough I actually want coffee flavored coffee from a coffee shop. Coffee, not some iced, blended green tea fruit crap that requires a straw, poorly dyed hair, and tacky pseudo-bohemian clothing to consume.

As much as I love Dennis Leary, I decide against it.

I'm still tempted, however, to use the ever popular pithy one-liner. You know the sort, "You still serve coffee here, don't you?" ...something like that, only delivered so dry as to go right over her head, to be explained later by the other patrons after I have left.

No, no, no. I decide against the passive aggressive approach as well. I'm older, wiser, and mellower these days. Aren't I? At least, I'd like to think so. I smile, pay my bill, and even tip the clueless young barista as I look forward the sweet dark nectar perusing my palate on its way to caffeinating my bloodstream.

My clueless young barista looks consternated again. Then, in a tone that could only be described as equal parts accusatory and patronizing, comes the five word bombshell:

"Is that a $tarbucks drink?"

WOW. It's a good thing I've mellowed out a bit, huh? If that had happened a few years ago, I might very well have made the evening news.

I've posted this as a plea to retail professionals. If you own or manage a customer service oriented business, please take the small amount of time and effort necessary to train your employees on basic product knowledge and simple etiquette. It will prevent you from losing customers like me, as I am unlikely to ever visit World Café at Cedar Hills Crossing at any point in the foreseeable future. Thank you.