My Starbucks was jiving this morning! Adam, one of the longtime employees, had his guitar set up in the corner and was happily playing holiday tunes to us groggy professionals en route to our offices. I adore Adam and the rest of his co-workers. They always have a smile and a compliment ready for me along with my tall drip and multigrain bagel. They know my name, know I take my coffee black, and know that I alternate my breakfast selection among two or three different options. Even when the line is out the door, they make sure I have my coffee, my pastry, and the balance on my handy-dandy Starbucks card within a few minutes.
When I first left private practice for the Federal Defender's office, one of the more challenging adjustments to government life was getting used to the absence of firm-bought, secretary-made, always-hot coffee in the office. For years I'd avoided patronizing the Evil McCoffee Empire, but now I was faced with three choices: (1) participate in the office coffee club, which meant having to make the stuff myself, wait for it to drip, and wash the coffee maker on a daily basis; (2) walk several blocks out of my way to an independent coffee shop with lousy pastries; or (3) buy Starbucks. I'm incredibly lazy about my morning coffee -- I want it hot, strong, and NOW with no dirty dishes involved. So the convenience factor tipped the scales in favor of option 3, and I started patronizing the branch located right in my office building.
Within a few weeks, it felt like my neighborhood coffee shop. As I said, they know me there, and they make it feel like home. Starbucks is not the cheapest habit to support, but I've found that the friendly interaction I get at this outlet is as important to me as the caffeine and sugar fix. I don't feel this way about most other Starbucks locations, but this one seems to be staffed by a particularly professional and friendly group that takes pride in ensuring a satisfying morning coffee experience.
This morning, while I was enjoying Adam's musical talents, I started thinking about all the people without whom I would be powerless to survive. Maybe I could bring myself to make my own coffee if I had to, but what would I do without my hair stylist, my "aesthetician" (the chick who waxes my eyebrows), my pedicurist, my personal trainer, my dry cleaner, my cleaning lady, my physical therapist, and the great workers who roll my burritos at Chipotle? I interact over and over with these people every week. Some of them, like my cleaning lady, I never see in person, but without them, my life would be far more difficult.
I'm perpetually indebted to my "people," these men and women whose jobs it is to take care of me and make my life easier. And I get far more out of my relationships with them than simply the services they provide. Many of these folks have been in my life longer than some of my friends; they have weathered job changes, breakups, injuries, and bad hair days with me. I've become very attached to them, and though I'm simply one of the many people they serve each day, I flatter myself by thinking that I mean more to them than a generous tip.
For example, I love hearing about the romantic exploits of Summer, the gorgeous blonde who keeps my brows perfectly shaped. For years I've been encouraging Farah, my nail tech, to travel and to challenge herself. Now that she's back in school and contemplating a study-abroad program, I feel some sense of pride in her accomplishments. Jeremy, my hair stylist, is an enormous man with countless tattoos and piercings, but he's a total softie who always has a hug for me and loves to talk about his 9-year-old son. My personal trainer and tri coach, Barrie, pushes me to test my physical limits and has helped me break personal records. In addition, we've given one another all sorts of personal advice and support over time. Cathy, my physical therapist (like Bob, who preceded her), is always up for interesting political and philosophical discussions while she manipulates my aches and pains.
Sometimes I feel like an economy unto myself, supporting a legion of workers with my wants, needs, and vain indulgences. Since leaving private practice, I've tried to cut down on my expenses, particularly those in the "vain indulgence" category. But I can't seem to give up everything, and the luxuries that involve personal contacts have been the hardest to forego. I guess most busy professionals have a similar supporting cast. Perhaps in this way, we create our own small towns within the urban jungles we inhabit.
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