We sit down on two of the tall stools at a Starbucks counter. We’d stopped somewhere in Pennsylvania, for a break in the 9-hour drive from Lovingston, VA to Etna, NY, after an enjoyable Thanksgiving visit. Starbucks is already decorated for the Christmas season, though Thanksgiving was only the day before. A new batch of Starbucks mugs, some trimmed in gold, are lined up on attractive display cases, along with various options for colorful Starbucks ‘credit cards’ and coffee variety packs designed for Christmas gifts. The ‘baristas’—a special Starbucks term, I guess—are all friendly. Soft music is playing in the background; a new, mellow version of ‘Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend’—-perfect music to stimulate a nostalgic feeling among people my age and even older. There’s plenty also to appeal to the young: fancy coffee grinders and new-fangled brewing devices, CDs with various kinds of music, and…excellent coffee.
There are lots of customers waiting to give their orders, lots more waiting for their finished coffees. The women behind the bar are busy and hard-working, calling out new orders as they process earlier ones. I am again struck by both the efficiency and the complexity of what’s on offer. One barista smiles at the man who comes forward in response to her high pitched announcement of ‘grande cappucino with no whip cream’. Another turns to the first with a new order, delivered in staccato so fast I can barely make out the words: ‘triple shot, grande, nonfat soy milk, peppermint latte’—just one of the multitudinous options available at any Starbucks.
I remember my first visit to one of these establishments a decade or so ago, after another decade or two without a Starbucks visit. I walked into the Starbucks that is perched on the NW corner of the central square in Portland, Oregon. Like the Pennsylvania Starbucks, it was full. I waited in a long line, which continued to grow behind me, expecting simply to ask for a cup of coffee. In my innocence, I had assumed that was a simple request, that I might be asked perhaps if I’d like sugar or cream. But I was totally unprepared for the stream of instantaneous decisions I was called on to make. Which cup did I want [the smallest was called, oddly, ‘tall’]? How many shots [shots? of coffee?]? Did I want added flavoring? Did I want non-fat or soy milk? Did I want whipping cream? How about sprinkles of chocolate or cinnamon? I think there were even more questions! It was a totally discombobulating experience. I didn’t know the answers in the immediate manner that was quite obviously expected of me; and I could clearly see the irritation on the faces of both the barista and the customers behind me, as I struggled to figure out what I did want. I’m much more experienced now, and know how to avoid all these questions. The right answer is “tall mocha with whip cream”.
I’ve had to adjust my feelings about Starbucks over the years. I went to Graduate School at the University of Washington, in Seattle. At that time, Starbucks was a small, family operation downtown, and its coffee was already well-known and loved by my fellow graduate students. Not a coffee aficionado myself (I’ll drink anything brown), I still enjoyed going there. We would watch the owners (or workers?) roasting and grinding coffee in what looked like rather primitive contraptions (image of that era available on Wikipedia!). I remember watching the coffee beans swirling down a big open metal funnel. It might have been the first time I’d ever seen coffee beans, I’m not sure. Anyway, it all involved an element of exoticism—compared to buying a can of Folgers at the grocery store. We were anthropology grad students, after all—in love with anything exotic. My feelings for Starbucks were quite homey and warm: anthropology’s exoticism linked with America’s love of small business. What more could one ask!?
As time has gone on, and Starbucks has expanded across the globe, in some places littering every block, I’ve had to re-examine these warm, fuzzy feelings. Starbucks is now a part of what we used to call ‘the military industrial complex’—something potentially to be feared. I visited Ethiopia a few years back, and found the coffee producers (in the original home of coffee, the real home, where it first grew) involved in a dispute with Starbucks over the prices they were receiving. It was settled, apparently amicably, and I don’t really know the ins and outs of the dispute, but it did make me wonder. Given the funds Starbucks has at its disposal to tout its social justice concerns, how do we casually learn about the justice or injustice of any given dispute, without spending an inordinate amount of time and energy? [answer: we don’t]
Now I live and am involved with people at Cornell University, in Ithaca, NY. Here, the intrusion of Starbucks near the Ithaca Commons (downtown) was fought tooth and nail. Concerns about ‘big business’ and its displacement of local and family operations rightfully concern the populace. On the other hand, many of us truly enjoy Starbucks coffee—even my very discriminating husband. My son in law, who recently came to visit from the Seattle area, was so addicted to Starbucks coffee that he would drive the 10 miles or so from our house downtown to get a cup every morning!
My family has been quietly (and in my case, a bit guiltily) happy to have one nearby. The ‘warm fuzzies’ linger…