Ben & Shae Cecka's family in Gilbert, AZ

I wrote this essay for my English 101 class. The purpose was to tell about an experience when we revisited a place or time in our life. I chose to talk about my history with Starbucks, what took me away from it (and California), and then what I observed when I came back.

Starbuck’s Coffee© is an interesting phenomenon. I never really experienced the coffee shop phase as I was always on the other side of the counter. As a teenager, I spent my nights and weekends serving coffee to an assortment of customers. I was subject to their scrutiny and personal tastes each and every day. In its entirety, I found that Starbuck’s and coffee houses in general had enough nuances and quirks to create an entire cultural movement. Or not.
I spent the better part of my last teenage years working at Starbuck’s Coffee in Lake Forest, California, one of a smattering of cities located in southern Orange County. In fact, one could drive for only a few hours and pass through a dozen different cities. This particular Starbuck’s was one of three on El Toro Road, the main drag through my part of town. The different smells in the atmosphere of the store could dictate the time of day that a shift was being started. After school, coming in with the evening crew, I could feel the energy in the air of the busy morning and afternoon rushes, mixed with the smell of coffee and the sweat of my co-workers (customers could only pickup the coffee scent). Coming in for the mid-morning to afternoon shift presented an entirely different environment. Upon entering the store, we were immediately drawn in and heaved into position by the throng of customers, like a vast ocean with its limitless power beating at a stranded dinghy. If our crew was able to get past this stage of the day, all we had to look forward to was the aftermath of crumbs and spills on the tables, the seemingly endless pile of dishes, and the ongoing struggle to keep the bar stocked with all the necessary ingredients. This was not a shift for the faint-hearted. Then, as we progress to the earliest shift of the day, we came to the store openers. Although some may not like the concept of clocking in to their job at 4:30a.m., this presents its advantages in the coffee-house scenario. When entering the store at this time, there is no smell of coffee, no hint of sweat in the air, not even a dirty dish or two in the sink waiting to be sanitized. The only aroma is that of the fresh pastries that were dropped off from the bakery hours before. So, here we have the entire dynamic of an average day behind the counter in one of the three Starbuck’s on El Toro Road in Lake Forest.
Through years of scientific research (telling stories in the break room), I deduced that there are roughly three types of customers throughout the day, directly affected by the time of day in which they arrive at the store. We will overlook weekends here as there are slight variations. First, the morning regulars are in a hurry to get to their cubicle or desk job. They often come in pairs, and although the sheer mass influx at the door may be slightly intimidating, these patrons typically know exactly how the operation is run and can therefore help to expedite the entire in-out process. In fact, in the amount of time it could take to help a single person who has never ordered a drink before to select a beverage, our crew could serve ten other people who had the routine down and were able to conform to our fast-paced system. Next, the midday customers who treat the shop like a restaurant, coming in expecting to sit down for a few hours with friends and be cleaned up after. One such group of women came nearly every day around noon. Their names weren’t known to most of the employees, who instead referred to them as The Mistos (a beverage that consisted of half coffee and half steamed milk, also known as the Poor Woman’s Latte). These women would come in several days throughout the week, rearrange the patio furniture, and gab for hours: the epitome of the Orange County suburbanite. Lastly, and perhaps the most intriguing, the evening pack arrives. This crowd is filled with the friends of employees, the musicians and artists, the young college intellectuals, and the occasional family out for a nighttime snack. Cigarette smoke fills the air outside, along with conversations about religion, politics, and the latest trends.
A visit to the store off the clock was best done during the evening hours when there was the best chance of finding a friend nearby. The few people outside were usually sitting at tables, engaged in games of chess, checkers, or cribbage. The chances were good that someone was brandishing an acoustic guitar, strumming to match the tempo of the evening (I found myself in this position quite often). There was discussion about what had happened at the store earlier that day. Talk about new love and bad breakups was also involved. All these events may take place on an average night at the Starbuck’s on El Toro Road.
Life continued on this path for many months until I met a girl. She explained to me from the beginning that she had a grand plan of travel and adventure from New York to Portland (this would later change to just moving to Portland) and it wouldn’t be long before she embarked on the journey. I didn’t take her seriously. When was only a month before the big move, the words she had spoken began to slowly sink into my twenty-year-old head. Within two weeks of her proposed departure, I packed my belongings (everything that could fit in to the back of my S-10 pickup) and drove off to a city where nobody would know my name: Spokane, Washington. Granted, I didn’t move to Portland as everyone had expected. I thought to myself, “If she’s going to move 1000 miles away, then I’m going to move 350 more!” We both left in October of 2002, we didn’t get an opportunity to come back until December of 2003.
Upon arrival at my old store on El Toro Road on the first evening of my visit, I first noticed that the interior had been remodeled. It now resembled every other contemporarily designed store in the chain. Somewhat taken aback, I found myself sitting outside on the patio on a new set of chairs and tables. Once there, I was met with the same familiar faces that had been there before. It was as if they had been sitting there the entire time, coming and going in their usual daily routine. It was good to see familiarity, but seeing how tumultuous my last thirteen months had been, I was disheartened. I heard the same conversations, the same jokes, and even the same stories that I had heard before. As I sat and watched the familiar faces go by, a few people who recognized me stopped for mindless small-talk. I sadly concluded this evening and bid farewell.
One more visit was required, though, during the daytime, so I could see an old friend. I found the same mess left behind the same customers, some of whom had different faces on this time. The same swarm had been through only minutes before I arrived, before they droned away in the same frenzied fashion. It was then that I realized the only element that had changed in the year while I was away was the outward appearance. I was filled with revelation: maybe it was only my own perception that was to be faulted. Perhaps I remained unchanged while this world continued on its own corporately designed axis of marketing perfection.