Why Starbucks is Not Unlike Prison

So, in my relatively limited time working at Starbucks, I’ve learned a thing or two.

  • You’re going to drop shit
  • You’re going to break shit
  • You will get drinks wrong (I don’t care if you’re the Grand Master Barista of the fucking WORLD, you WILL get someone’s drink wrong at some point)

And last, but not least,

  • Sharpies at Starbucks are GOLD

Not unlike cigarettes in prison.

Everyone wants, no, needs, no, craves, sharpies. They’re preciousssss.

My Precious

Hell, even if one of the “partners” isn’t marking down drinks, even if they have no discernible use for a Sharpie, they will almost undoubtedly have one stashed away in their apron. I’m serious, their sole purpose for the entirety of their shift could be to stand there and steam milk and they’d still try to bogart a Sharpie. Even if you’re running around like crazy looking for any form of writing utensil, they still won’t share their Sharpie. Unless, of course, you’ve got something good to trade for it or be held as collateral.

All my incarcerated homies out there know what I’m talking about. They get me and my plight. It’s a scary way to work my friends, let me tell you (and since you’re reading my post, I guess you are letting me tell you).

When I hear Starbucks employees be called “partners” this is what I think of:

Partner

 

Happy Friday! I apologize if this didn’t make a lot of (or any) sense, I’m sick and have been all week. I may be delusional. I may not have written this at all. I’m really not clear on the specifics.

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