The Starbucks Coffee Company-- has relatively rigid guidelines for their employees and extremely high standards of business conduct. I know this because their corporate policies are available online:
http://www.starbucks.com/aboutus/US_English_full_kit.pdf
I personally like Starbucks. The coffee isn't horrendous, the atmosphere is jovial and, four out of five times, the barista at the counter is smiling at me.
I have to wonder how it is, then, that this capitalist empire I embrace (c'mon, you know you love the cinnamon dolce latte too) puts such effort into customer satisfaction yet serves their coffee from paper cups.
We were sitting outside a mom-and-pop cafe on Monday, consuming the freshly brewed house blend and squinting in the sunlight. Our drinks grew cold quickly, as the temperature had dropped and we were drinking from actual mugs - no insulated styrofoam, no paper lids.
As I wondered how that place stayed in business, supporting local art and music and selling beverages at reasonable prices, I began to question how it is that I prefer the charm of a local coffee shop but am so decidedly comfortable with the matching furniture and mass-produced screen prints permeating the Barnes and Noble cafe.
I find that most people, when searching for a voice of their own, find it within someone else's. Although I have difficulty understanding the mass appeal of loser bands like 3 Doors Down and the cliche writings of Nicholas Sparks, I'm not going to lie to myself and say I didn't watch, love and cry hysterically about the movie Titanic. Probably somewhere within my own quest for personal identity, I learned to silence those neurons in my brain which caused me to be attracted to conventional beauty and lean toward aggregated opinion. Consequentially, the voices of the two opposing sides of my personality instruct me at equal volumes. Conform! says one. Resist! the other.
He said, "I'm sure you won't like her too much, because she listens to music people have heard of and doesn't mismatch her clothes." Today, with my sorority-looking ponytail and gap jeans, I am appalled. Am I wrong to prefer something a little warmer than the antiseptic touch of a Solo cup? And while I say I prefer those things alternative to our culture, the sad fact is that I'm no different from everyone else; and I'm certainly in no place to evaluate a person's character based upon her personal preferences.
Everything's a psychological power struggle these days. I want to choose a candidate for the 2008 election, believe in him/her with all my heart and exercise my menial 'right' as a citizen, but I can't bring myself to separating one politician from another, as they're all capable of plunging our nation into a state of deeper social/political/economic despair, anyway. More and more often lately, I think I should quit my job, make conspiracy art and cause an uproar; while at the same time, I think it doesn't require a lot of effort to just sell out, work for the man and pay my bills.
My male friends wince when I mention my love of moustaches and disinterest in sculpted abs. My musician friends don't understand why I can't just play normal chords and straight rhythms. My parents wonder what they did wrong to raise a child who isn't pretty and doesn't care to be.
Most people think I'm reaching so far into the resistance pot that I'm pulling out nonsense. That's probably true. I guess that while normalcy is so socially accepted, there is something to be said for the non-conforming heart of the minority.
It isn't that I can't dance to the latest Beyonce single or appreciate the appeal of to-go cups. Thanks to commercialism, my ugly bird feeders are mass produced and sold in stores like Wal-Mart and Home Depot, thus generating my very income.
I just long for a day - a time, a place - wherein people drink espresso from real espresso cups, laughing blithely and smoking cigarettes at a table outside of a cafe. As our world becomes more globalized, individuals are increasingly less interesting, Is it that drab people are blending into a sequentially banal culture; or is it the progression of cross-cultures that is watering down humanity?
At the mall Saturday night, Allison and I commented on the girl wearing striped stockings and fingerless mittens, and how, between three and five years ago, we looked like her. Annoyed by the lack of variety in our surroundings, we went home to screen print t-shirts that we will wear with our skinny jeans and chuck taylors...just like everybody else. Oh man.
I personally like Starbucks. The coffee isn't horrendous, the atmosphere is jovial and, four out of five times, the barista at the counter is smiling at me.
I have to wonder how it is, then, that this capitalist empire I embrace (c'mon, you know you love the cinnamon dolce latte too) puts such effort into customer satisfaction yet serves their coffee from paper cups.
We were sitting outside a mom-and-pop cafe on Monday, consuming the freshly brewed house blend and squinting in the sunlight. Our drinks grew cold quickly, as the temperature had dropped and we were drinking from actual mugs - no insulated styrofoam, no paper lids.
As I wondered how that place stayed in business, supporting local art and music and selling beverages at reasonable prices, I began to question how it is that I prefer the charm of a local coffee shop but am so decidedly comfortable with the matching furniture and mass-produced screen prints permeating the Barnes and Noble cafe.
I find that most people, when searching for a voice of their own, find it within someone else's. Although I have difficulty understanding the mass appeal of loser bands like 3 Doors Down and the cliche writings of Nicholas Sparks, I'm not going to lie to myself and say I didn't watch, love and cry hysterically about the movie Titanic. Probably somewhere within my own quest for personal identity, I learned to silence those neurons in my brain which caused me to be attracted to conventional beauty and lean toward aggregated opinion. Consequentially, the voices of the two opposing sides of my personality instruct me at equal volumes. Conform! says one. Resist! the other.
He said, "I'm sure you won't like her too much, because she listens to music people have heard of and doesn't mismatch her clothes." Today, with my sorority-looking ponytail and gap jeans, I am appalled. Am I wrong to prefer something a little warmer than the antiseptic touch of a Solo cup? And while I say I prefer those things alternative to our culture, the sad fact is that I'm no different from everyone else; and I'm certainly in no place to evaluate a person's character based upon her personal preferences.
Everything's a psychological power struggle these days. I want to choose a candidate for the 2008 election, believe in him/her with all my heart and exercise my menial 'right' as a citizen, but I can't bring myself to separating one politician from another, as they're all capable of plunging our nation into a state of deeper social/political/economic despair, anyway. More and more often lately, I think I should quit my job, make conspiracy art and cause an uproar; while at the same time, I think it doesn't require a lot of effort to just sell out, work for the man and pay my bills.
My male friends wince when I mention my love of moustaches and disinterest in sculpted abs. My musician friends don't understand why I can't just play normal chords and straight rhythms. My parents wonder what they did wrong to raise a child who isn't pretty and doesn't care to be.
Most people think I'm reaching so far into the resistance pot that I'm pulling out nonsense. That's probably true. I guess that while normalcy is so socially accepted, there is something to be said for the non-conforming heart of the minority.
It isn't that I can't dance to the latest Beyonce single or appreciate the appeal of to-go cups. Thanks to commercialism, my ugly bird feeders are mass produced and sold in stores like Wal-Mart and Home Depot, thus generating my very income.
I just long for a day - a time, a place - wherein people drink espresso from real espresso cups, laughing blithely and smoking cigarettes at a table outside of a cafe. As our world becomes more globalized, individuals are increasingly less interesting, Is it that drab people are blending into a sequentially banal culture; or is it the progression of cross-cultures that is watering down humanity?
At the mall Saturday night, Allison and I commented on the girl wearing striped stockings and fingerless mittens, and how, between three and five years ago, we looked like her. Annoyed by the lack of variety in our surroundings, we went home to screen print t-shirts that we will wear with our skinny jeans and chuck taylors...just like everybody else. Oh man.
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