Screw the Latte; Where Are the Hand Towels?

I was at a Starbucks last night, overhearing the barista (who may have been an assistant manager) loudly discussing her method for getting into the flow of the workday. She was lamenting the ways customers can then derail her flow when they mention pesky needs like, "Oh, the washroom is out of hand towels." As she explained, when she's in "the zone," the customers need to wipe their hands on their pants and stay out of her way.

But here's what's funny about that: I don't care how well-managed or slickly-operated a cafe appears to be on the front end; if the back end is broken, it ruins my experience. And if you, as a cafe manager, can't be bothered to ensure that your customers have (for example) a pleasant washroom experience, then no amount of effort expended on the front-end facade will make up for the back-end derailment of THEIR "zone."

Generalized moral of the story: are YOU focusing on the right priorities to ensure YOUR audience is having a great experience, or are you mismanaging your time and effort, leaving your customers with shoddy memories and chapped hands?

Just When You Thought Starbucks WASN'T the Devil...

When we're not stumping for the indie cofffee shops in town, Ann and I occcasionally frequent the Starbucks in Squirrel Hill (Forbes & Shady). She likes the drinks, I like the atmosphere. One thing Starbucks tends to do well is create an inviting atmosphere that encourages a wandering mind, and the related inspirations that come with dark wood, cushy chairs and smooth jazz.

After today, I believe I'll be choosing a new Starbucks outpost.

Why? One word: baristas.

There were two girls working at this location (actually three, but one seemed to be out of the loop most of the time), and they had nary a positive word to say about anything. Normally I can handle a healthy dose of cynicism -- hello, mirror -- but only when it's directed at people's own woebegone lives, or politics, or theology, or anything else worth bitching about.

Not at the customers.

Ladies, here's an open letter: I know your job sucks. You know your job sucks. It's a job; by definition, it almost always sucks.

What I, one of many customers, does not need to hear while sitting in your establishment is what you snidely have to say about nearly every other customer who walks out the door. I'm well aware that people can be ignorant; I worked in retail for too many years myself. But insulting people based upon mental illness, race, nationality, speech impediments, or forgetting to turn your goddamn chairs around when they leave does nothing to endear you to me as benevolent arbiters of multicultural celebration.

It makes you look small-minded and ignorant, and reminds me that I can probably find more tolerance, better conversation and a mocha that doesn't taste like chalk at the independent cafe down the street.

Dark wood and smooth jazz be damned.

Quick Flight Notes

I'm in New Jersey, staying with John C. Havens of About.com's guide to podcasting. He asked me if I wanted to work with him on a freelance project that had come his way and I agreed, so here I am.

This means I rushed around town all day running errands because I knew I'd be out of communication for most of tomorrow. So I get to the airport and I have 80 unchecked messages in my inbox. I answer those, and now I logon to my account and find I have 30 more responses in the 4 hours I've been away from my machine.

Egad. If this is busy for me, I can only imagine what the Jeff Pulvers and Andrew Barons of the world are greeted by when they click their "Mail" icon...

******

Meanwhile, I saw a fantastic example of customer service in action today. I went to Quizno's in the Pittsburgh International Airport food concourse and ordered a vegetarian sub (which is not on their menu, but they have the ingredients to make it; interestingly, it IS on their register keypad...).

While waiting for the sandwich to come through the mini-oven, the girl who adds the post-oven toppings dropped my order sheet on the floor. She stared down at it, perplexed. She was wearing plastic gloves, and she knew that picking up the paper would mean she'd need to throw the gloves away and get a new pair.

So she TURNED THE ORDER SLIP OVER WITH HER FEET, which was not an easy task -- many failed attempts preceded her success -- and read it (accurately) off the floor.

Now THAT'S finding a creative solution to a simple yet vexing problem...

PS The sub was excellent.