Dear Diary:
A few months ago I was waiting in a long, slow-moving line at a Starbucks on the Upper East Side. While the bustling baristas quickly took orders, accurately exchanged payment and efficiently wrote customers’ names on cups, the line was still as sluggish as the slothful patrons before their morning caffeine.
One elderly lady, wearing bold red lipstick and mammoth sunglasses, was on the other side of the store awaiting her name to be called out. A barista placed a drink on the counter and shouted “Ben!†As instantaneous as an echo in a cave, the elderly lady screamed 100 decibels louder, “BEN! COME PICK UP YOUR DRINK!â€
Moments later another barista placed a drink at the pickup counter, “Mike, your order’s ready!†Without delay, the elderly lady clamored, “MIKE! COME ON UP, YOUR DRINK’S HERE!â€
For a couple more orders the elderly lady followed suit, making the already scrambling Starbucks baristas a little more frantic. At last, a barista announced “Ruth!†The elderly lady picked up her coffee and scurried out onto the street.
Alas, I was still waiting to place my order, but there’s not a single doubt in my mind that without “barista†Ruth helping out, the line was once again moving slower than ever.
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