I’ve been a proud laborer for a large portion of my life. Starting from lemonade stands and working my way up the ranks, I can safely say I’ve put in the work. You see, that’s the responsibility of the working class. It’s in the name: working class. Working. Does anyone even work anymore? Everywhere is hiring. I see the signs on my morning commute. When I stop to get my morning coffee, I can’t help but notice that it takes an extra five minutes of my time to sit in the drive through and place my order. Then, when I finally get to the window, there’s only one person, usually a woman, to “man” the machines. What is causing this déclassé service? Well, that’s exactly what I decided to ask the first worker I saw, who just so happened to be this cashier. Let’s just say, through her anger and tears, I found a strong bout of empathy inside me towards a group of people I hardly knew existed.  

To let you know where I’m coming from, my family was always well off. Instead of gaining customer service skills, I learned how to network. Instead of handling ones and fives, I managed my hundreds. The grueling tasks of a Starbucks barista were alien to me, as I did not understand how someone could choose to work in such a lowbrow position. I thought the only people who worked minimum-wage jobs were high school students. Certainly no one with experience in the job industry would agree to be paid such little for their time, right? According to this hardly working worker, not everyone can “afford to get a college degree.” Not everyone’s family “had connections.” Not everyone was “born with a silver spoon up their ass.” These words were a bolt from the blue.

            All the familiar faces that made my drinks—the names I never bothered to learn—it had never crossed my mind that these people making my coffee had lives of their own.

             Seeing this woman sniffle and sob over a critique of her service, I was reborn. This display of true human sentience left me astounded. Suddenly the idea of making snarky comments seemed vulgar and uncivilized. These minimum-wage workers, they too are people. They deserve respect. Just like us they can contemplate the purpose of their existence and realize the value of their life. Knowing this, how could I ever be rude to them again?

            For so long I believed that my actions only affected me. Quite frankly, I thought that I was the only person who could have a hard day at work.

            No matter how hard I try, I do not believe I could ever raise my voice at another Starbucks employee again. After I received my drink I sat in the parking lot, disgusted with myself. Now I get secondhand embarrassment when I see an angry customer berate the cashier for getting their order wrong.

The feedback surveys always ask me, “What can our employees do to improve your experience?” Instead, they should ask how I can improve the experience of their employees.

            This ordeal forced me to reflect on my past actions and think about how I treat others. Maybe if more people decided to interact with their Starbucks barista on such a deep level, they would understand. Maybe one day people will know not to yell at the people who work the coffee machines and craft their drinks.

However, I’ll continue to dole out my cynical remarks to those working at Taco Bell, at least, until they express their hatred towards my behavior.