Losing My Religion
I was sitting in my usual spot at Starbucks Sunday morning, trying to get some work done. A steady stream of pre-church customers filed through the door, all seeking out something to help keep them awake during the sermon. I come to Starbucks a few times a week to write, and I swear, I’d never heard more complaints from customers in my life than I did that morning.
“I’m so sorry you had that experience,” I overheard the manager murmuring to a frowning man in a three-piece suit. “Let me give you a coupon for a free drink to make up for it.”
“Um, ma’am,” a flowered-dress-clad woman interrupted her. “This was supposed to be a Vanilla Mocha, not a Vanilla Latte.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll fix that right away,” the manager said.
“Yeah, do,” the woman snapped, rolling her eyes at her preteen daughter.
“This chai is cold,” another woman with a Bible under one arm said to a barista a few minutes later. “Unusually cold.”
“So sorry,” the barista said meekly.
Maybe it was just a bad day for the Starbucks employees, but really, is it necessary to be rude when your coffee order is wrong? Starbucks is one of those places in which I’ve never encountered a rude employee- subconsciously, I suppose, I’m pretty nice when they get things wrong, and I notice most others are the same way. I couldn’t help but notice the irony that all of these angry customers were on their way to church. It’s sort of like being cut off in traffic by a car with a fish symbol on the trunk; there’s no poorer advertisement for Christianity than a churchgoer having a fit over a botched frappuchino.
I often hesitate to tell people I’m a Christian, not because I’m ashamed of what I believe, but because I’m ashamed of the image most people get in their minds when they hear the term. These Starbucks customers reinforced the way I feel. They put down their Bible study books in order to give the barista a sound dressing down over the missing caramel shot in their cappuccino. Yuck.
Religion, particularly in the south, often seems to be more of a statement on social status than a search for meaning. Good citizens live in the suburbs. Good citizens join the PTA. Good citizens go to church. Good citizens are sometimes rude to coffee servers and cashiers, perhaps because it wasn’t so long ago that those good citizens were earning minimum wage and working on weekends themselves.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
