Someone Nicer in Starbucks

Truly, I need to do this more often. I mean get more practice, until I can be someone nicer without feeling like someone stupid. Without being overcome by that oh-so-British urge to stick my head in a paper bag and pretend it’s nothing to do with me.

Let me explain. I’d been thinking  how most of my recent posts had been a little more, well, impersonal. Doing good without appearing to do so, so there’d be no awkwardness on either side.

Which wasn’t my original intention, if you remember. I wanted this project to take me outside my comfort zone. Which meant it was time to up the ante on myself a little: feel the awkwardness and do it anyway.

pay it backwards

Coincidentally I’d been reading about a spate of random acts of kindness in the US. Apparently Starbucks‘ customers have been ‘paying it backwards’ by paying ahead for the next customer’s drink – thereby encouraging that customer to pay it forward  (still with me?) by doing the same for the person after them.

One barista claims to have witnessed a chain of five pay it backward/forwards (though the blogger reporting this is, you’ll see, adding his own large pinch of salt to this coffee story – could Starbucks possibly be brewing this one up themselves for the PR?)

So, Starbucks it would be, even though I already knew it would be a stretch. I’ve never been in a Starbucks where there isn’t a big queue breathing down my neck. How would I pay for the next person in line without them overhearing and perhaps feeling awkward about it?

indecision

As it turned out, not being overheard was only one of a  string of logistical problems.

As I approached the counter I thought how will I know which drink the next in line wants and therefore how much to pay?
What if it was a whole family? Would I then look mean if I only paid for one drink?
And the other thing about Starbucks, it takes a while for your own drink to come. Was it a problem that I’d still be hanging around when my ‘victim’ joined me for the waiting game…

Aargh!

and more indecision

This all led to a little bit of lurking, suspicious enough, I’ve no doubt, for the store’s security cameras to be trained on me while I stepped forward and ducked back every time another large gaggle of friends approached the counter.

There are limits to my purse, sadly, if not my kindness.

Then, bingo, I overheard a teenage lad and his father, discussing whether there was time to queue for a drink. “I’m in a hurry,” the dad said testily. “We can’t stop to drink it here. What do you want?”

OK. So perhaps paying for his son’s drink would soothe this guy’s agitation  a fraction. I continued eavesdropping while I waited to be served, mentally trying to calculate how much to put behind the till as the son announced he wanted a caramel macchiato, then changed his mind to a frappuccino, then back to a different sort of macchiato, then something with cream on the top…

hissing and pounding

It was my turn. I ordered  my usual tall black americano – to take away.  ”Anything else?”
My heart was going faster than a washing machine on the spin cycle.  “Yes”.

The barista looked startled. Somehow, my yes had come out sounding more like ‘get stuffed’.

I leaned towards her, hissing: “Can you take another £2.50 towards the next customer’s drink?” 

“Sorry”, she shouted at the top of her voice, “I didn’t catch that”.

make that a meal
To add to my difficulties, testy father and thirsty son now had the nerve to change their minds entirely. I could hear them agreeing that not only were they both going to order drinks, they were going to eat too!

For heaven’s sake: my couple of quid wasn’t even going to be noticed by the time they’d clocked up for two drinks, two packs of sandwiches and two buns.

Just the same, I repeated that I wanted to pay extra on my bill towards theirs.

Then I scuttled off to wait for my Americano, praying it would be served before the two spendthrifts caught up with me, unsure whether I wanted them to know it was me and acknowledge my (by now) tiny contribution, or simply note it in the spirit of a random act of kindness from a nameless stranger. It was, and they didn’t.

conscious kindness

But here’s the thing. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I think I should have turned to the duo and said, with a smile on my face and certainty in my voice, “I would like to buy you both a drink and I’ve given the barista  some money to pay for it. I hope that’s OK?”

That would have made it human. That would have turned something nice-but-odd  into a gift. That would have reminded us all that a part of what we’re here to do on this planet is to connect,  make life a little better for each other, make a messy and confusing world - momentarily – appear a little less random.

I really want to know what you think about this. My sense is that there’s more power in kindness when it’s no longer an anonymous act but offered openly, not in any spirit of expectation, of wanting anything back, but absolutely from the heart. (And as I write that I don’t underestimate how big a challenge that is.)

So once again I feel a sense of a job half done. That I need to return and try again, and this time be honest about what I’m doing – rather than be a lurking, whispering oddball looking for answers at the bottom of a cup of coffee.

It feels positive to have realised this, and there are two more positives to report. I left the shop feeling  great: lighter, taller, and a  pleased with myself for being brave enough to follow through.

On my way home I  popped into the co-op to buy coke for my teenage son and, on a whim,  picked up an instant scratchcard which won £6. Enough to pay for my coffee and whichever creamy concoction that teenager opted for in the end.

Pay it forward at work, d’you think?