Well, I finally set foot in a Starbucks again after having largely avoided the chain for the last few years. As many of you know, my beloved local coffee shop, Montego Bay, closed their doors after being in my community for over five years.
It wasn’t just the coffee Montego Bay sold; it was the atmosphere they provided. It was a unique experience as far as coffee shops go.
It was a feel-good sorta place. At any given time, you might walk in and hear Ozzy Osbourne blasting over the speakers. Or Jimmy Buffett. Or George Strait. You just never knew what you’d hear, but there was always some sort of music playing.
It had a very relaxing, beachy feel to it. There was an overhang above the counter that made you feel as though you were walking up to a cabana bar on the beach. They had a swirling painting hanging over the Simonelli Espresso machine reminiscent of the many cerulean shades of the Caribbean. Heck, even the walls were painted a soothing Bahama blue.
The first time I walked in, I was greeted by a Val Kilmer lookalike named Blair. He was wearing a do-rag to hold back his long hair and I immediately liked him. He asked what I wanted and I said I wasn’t sure. He told me to describe what I wanted and he’d make it for me. I told him I usually order a caramel macchiato at Starbucks. So that’s what he made me. Only, this was far better than anything Starbucks has ever even thought about making.
I liked Montego Bay so much that I have a window decal on my car advertising for them. I liked the fact that on mornings when I was makeup-less, had not yet brushed my teeth, and was wearing pajamas when I dropped off the kids, I could still swing by MBC and they didn’t judge. When I’d be out & about shopping or whatever, Dan knew that I’d very likely stop by MBC and spend at least an hour.
Montego Bay Coffee was one of my happy places and I miss it terribly. I didn’t realize just how much I miss it though, until I walked into Starbucks yesterday.
(Don’t judge. I was running late and didn’t have time to make a latte at home.)
The first thing I noticed is that no one greeted me when I came through the door. No one seemed genuinely glad to see me, nor did they call me by name. There was no barstool to sit on and have a chat with the person behind the counter.
There was no music, only the din of chatter.
The next thing I noticed is I had to tell them what I wanted.
Yeah, I know, I know… the folks at Montego Bay had me spoiled a tad because I was a regular. But that’s not the point. I liked the fact that the moment they saw my car pull up, they started my caramel macchiato with half the syrup and extra froth. By the time I walked in, they were putting my coffee into my hand and asking what else they could get me.
The ordering experience at Starbucks was nothing of the sort. It made me a feel a little like cattle being rounded up to wait my turn at being put through the chute.
When my turn came, I said, “I want a Venti Caramel Macchiato with half the syrup, please.”
The teenage girl at the cash register just stared at me like I had lobsters coming out of my ears. She said, “Could you please repeat that?”
So I did. Slowly.
She asked, “You mean you want light syrup?”
I replied, “No. I want *half* the syrup you normally put in a latte.”
She said, “Are you sure you don’t want sugar-free syrup?”
I found myself wondering for the umpteenth time: Why, oh, why is it always me who gets the most clueless/rude/smartass/obnoxious/dumb/boneheaded employee a company has to offer?
It was my turn to give her a blank stare. I replied, “No, I don’t want sugar-free syrup…”
“Are you sure?” She interrupted. “Because that’s what people usually mean when they order ‘light’ syrup.”
As the increasing line of caffeine-deprived customers behind me let out a collective huff of aggravation, I mustered my remaining patience and replied, “Yes, I’m quite sure I don’t mean sugar-free. I want a caramel macchiato with two pumps of regular syrup. Just two, just regular, not sugar-free syrup. Please.”
I could almost see the light bulb come on over her head as clarity hit her.
“Oh!! Why didn’t you just say that?” She asked this as if I’d been speaking Greek the whole time.
“See, when you order coffee,” she explained as if I was a latte virgin, “There are codes and terms you have to use. ‘Light’ refers to sugar-free, not two pumps of flavoring.”
“Ah, I see.” I replied. I didn’t bother to point out to her that I never said the word “light” to begin with.
Then she asked my name so she could put it on the side of the cup. I said, “It’s Cari; C-A-R-I.”
With a confused look, she glanced down at my debit card in her hands and said, “But that’s not how it’s spelled on your card.”
She was right, of course. C-A-R-I isn’t the legal spelling of my name; however, it IS the spelling I’ve gone by since I was a kid.
Instead of attempting to explain this to the girl who had by now wasted many more minutes of my time than I wanted to give her, I replied, “You’re right, I misspelled my name. Just put it the same way it appears on the card.”
The sarcasm was completely lost on her.
After I finally got my Venti caramel macchiato (with the legal spelling of my name on the side of the cup and half the syrup, tyvm), I got in my car and took a sip. It was woefully inadequate.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Great coffee is a lot like great sex. If all you’ve ever had is average sex, then you accept it. But the moment you have amazing sex, your mind is blown. Suddenly, everything else seems pedestrian in comparison. Coffee is a lot like that for people who love coffee.
Montego Bay served velvety smooth, roasted-to-perfection coffee, prepared ANY way you could dream up. Starbucks serves coffee-flavored water with steamed milk and syrup. Yeah, it’ll do in a pinch when I’m desperate for caffeine and there isn’t a McDonald’s in sight. But it doesn’t, and never will, be able to hold a candle to Montego Bay Coffee.
I guess all of this just boils down to the fact that I miss my Montego Bay. I miss amazing coffee. I miss the breakfast burritos and the cinnamon rolls with homemade icing. I miss looking forward to the September day when Pumpkin Spice Lattes (made with real pumpkin and a secret blend of spices) would come back. I miss Holly Jolly Mochas. I miss the sight of Rooster the Red Roaster spinning around. I miss the smell of freshly roasted coffee. I miss hearing The White Stripes blasting from the speakers to help me kick-start my morning. I miss Blair, Hannah, Michaela, Morgan, Kerri, Talia, Bonnie, and the multitude of other regulars like me who’d come in on any given morning. I miss the friendship and camaraderie that comes along with being a regular at an establishment.
I miss going where everybody knew my name.
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