Once upon a New York minute, a small Dunkin Donuts on the corner of 7th Avenue and 54th street came alive with business. “Have a good day!” said the barista at the register. There were 5 employees on the job in the very cramped store, and the line of customers went all the way out the door. This was the dreaded morning rush that I was warned against when I first started working for Dunkin Donuts two weeks prior. “Have a good day!” It was like clockwork. It was 8 am and 400 customers would be here for the next hour. It was a flurry of whipped cream, shrieking espresso machines, clanging of measuring cups and chills from the opening and reopening of the fridge for skim, half and half, and whole milk. “Have a good day!” My flimsy apron was doused in splashes of lattes and cold brews. My hands were moving faster than my brain could process as I assembled cups and handed them down the assembly line of employees.
“I ASKED FOR A MACCHIATO NOT A LATTE!” A customer screamed angrily looking at the sticker on her cup. “WHO MADE THIS!” I mentally rolled my eyes. This wasn’t the first time the cashier messed up. The macchiato button and the latte button were right next to each other on the POS system. I’d made the mistake before, but it was always the one who actually made the drink who got an earful. “I’m sorry about that, I can remake it.” I piped up, trying not to slip on the coolata and milk spills on the floor. I had to make this quick or everyone else’s orders would take longer. I was supposed to be manning the espresso machine.
“I DON’T WANT YOU TO REMAKE IT. I WILL HAVE YOU FIRED FOR THIS. LOOK AT THIS! YOU CHARGED ME AN EXTRA 37 CENTS FOR SOMETHING I DIDN’T ORDER AND IT CAME OUT WRONG! I HAVE TO BE AT WORK IN 30 MINUTES! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.” I assessed the woman screaming at me. She was probably in her mid-thirties, she wore business attire, a purse tucked in the crook of her left elbow and the messed-up coffee in her right hand. I wonder if she realizes that I’m 16 years old and that this is my first job. I wonder if she realizes that I worked until 11 pm yesterday and didn’t get home until after midnight. I wonder if she realizes that I skipped breakfast to catch my train. I wonder if she realizes that the bagel I toasted for myself was partially-eaten and cold by now, sitting in its hiding spot by the oven. “YOU’RE JUST A STUPID BARISTA WHO DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO READ! YOU’LL GO NOWHERE IN LIFE!”
I remember that day like it was last week. I don’t think she cared or even realized that I had a life outside of work. They never do. They just see a tired barista and assume that she’s tired because she spent the day pushing donuts — not because she was working to afford college application fees.
That was the first time a customer ever screamed in my face but it certainly wasn’t the last. Sometimes, it’s not even a mistake in the order. I could’ve done everything right and they still project their anger onto me. I know that if I were just some random teenager in the street who they’d bumped into with a coffee in their hand, they would mumble a half-sorry and go about their way. If they saw me in normal clothes, they’d have the decency to say excuse me. The second I put on the Dunkin’ uniform, I lost respect from strangers. Someone once yelled at me because I didn’t give them enough cream cheese on their bagel. They swiped up a dollop of cream cheese and held it 5 inches from my face, “does this look like enough?!” Someone once yelled at me because I didn’t add the caramel drizzle to their hazelnut latte. I’ve been yelled at for taking more than 2 minutes to make the drink. I’ve always wanted to scream back, “I really don’t care about your day. Your story has nothing to do with the coffee that I’m making right now.” But I got pretty good at biting my tongue at that job.
Just because I got a few bad customers a day, doesn’t mean that the job was terrible. I got minimum wage in NYC ($13.50 an hour), I made friends with the other employees, I liked the morning rush and everything in the store was free for me. I could have whatever donuts, coffees and slushies I wanted. Still, the bad customers stuck with me. That first time made me wonder how people could be so mean. I don’t know if that first rude customer was really that rude to other people. I don’t know if she meant what she said because she was a stranger after all. Baristas are people, too, and they don’t respond well to being yelled at. I’m never going to forget that woman with her business attire and the oversized purse. I’m not going to forget the way she looked at me. I remember learning in school to treat people the way I wanted to be treated, but in the real world, I guess that never works out. I was taught that a decent human being treats the janitor the same way they treat the CEO. I was taught to always ask about someone’s day, learn their name, say “please and thank you.” Everyone learned that in primary school…right?
It was a harsh first-hand learning experience that not all people are nice, but it shouldn’t have to be like that in the first place. If they’re not yelling at me, they’re yelling at my other friends behind the counter. Have a good day, I thought as that customer stormed out five minutes later. We were told to say that. We get in trouble if we don’t say that. Have a good day…