The Day I fell out of Love with Starbucks
Starbucks has always had a special place in my discretionary spending column. I remember the incredulity in my partner’s face when I told her what I thought my approximate annual spend might be (I never dared to accurately tot it up, even though it was probably sitting there waiting to be uncovered like a guilty secret on my Gold Card app).
I discovered Starbucks in Times Square on a business trip to New York from the UK in the late nineties. It was love at first sight and taste. The convenience, the experience, the politeness, the efficiency, the whole late nineties empowering the customer, pleasing the customer vibe completely bowled me over. I got back to my office in London and asked my business development manager to call Seattle and ask about franchise opportunities. I was infatuated and knew this was the future. Unfortunately, there were no franchises at that point – they were all owned stores – so I carried on in the media business and became a superfan instead.
When I moved full-time to the US in 2004 and settled in North Carolina, Starbucks became my “third place”. That description wasn’t just wishful brand hyperbole and marketing speak for me – my local café was an integral and tone-setting part of my day. My family hadn’t settled, and we were in the painful process of reconfiguring our lives and constantly on trans- Atlantic planes, LaGuardia shuttles and trying to resolve a complicated career, school, family, relationship, geography equation. When my car pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the store, the baristas were on it. The triple grande non-fat cappuccino was in the works and by the time I got to the counter, Ginny or one of her colleagues, was in full flow – how are you, how are your girls, are you traveling this week? It sounds lame now, but these were important moments before the working day for someone whose job it was to lead a business single-mindedly and to shut out all distractions.
They closed that local Starbucks, I guess in 2008 or 2009 when the recession was biting. There was a store closing party and I told the regional manager how much her team had meant to me. It wasn’t the end for the associates – they found spots in different locations for all their folks, and I felt glad for them and grateful to Starbucks. The staff seemed to love working there – they enjoyed the benefits, so unusual for hourly workers – and I believe they got a kick out of selling food and beverages that clearly delighted most of us on the other side of the counter. I carried on visiting the various stores – spreading my favors around the Piedmont Triad like a super-caffeinated Daddy Warbucks, or Daddy Starbucks in this case. As franchises opened in airports, my constant business trips gained an additional layer of planning – which terminals had the Starbucks stores and did my layover allow me time to grab a coffee? I could tell you the options at SAN, DFW, XNA (none), LGA, SFO, SEA, ORD and many, many others. If the pub trivia quiz had had a section on Starbucks store locations in North American airports, you would have wanted me on your team.
When we made the full-time transition to our home in Manchester, Vermont and they opened a Starbucks a year or so later I truly believed that the CRM folks at Starbucks HQ had figured out my move from the downturn in sales in North Carolina and the Google search algorithm from southern Vermont.
So, when did it all start to pall? I’ve been trying to put my finger on it. I’ve always had my own old-school espresso machine at home. I buy Illy beans. I traded in the stainless-steel milk jug for an electric milk frother oh, a few years ago now. But I never consciously considered trading the home grown for the store experience. My addiction needed both sources.
And I’ve never had a bad, customer-service experience remotely similar to my recent Marriott meltdown (READ THE RULES, SIR!! YOU MADE A PURCHASE, THERE ARE NO REFUNDS!!).
I think COVID may have played a part. There was nothing sadder than walking in, masked-up, to see boxes of cup and coffee deliveries standing where the line to be served should have been. The Perspex half window between me and the masked college kid didn’t help either. Then the triple shot cappuccino began to vary startlingly in quality. “This is a latte, I’m afraid”. “Did you use non-fat milk?” “Are you sure you have the extra shot in there?”
I ordered on the app on my birthday this summer - and my drink, instead of being free - was charged. Big deal, get over it. And then last week I watched the poor, overwhelmed barista try to fulfil mobile and drive-through orders; pulling order tickets from the machine that was spitting them out like the jackpot on a one-armed bandit. When I got home, my drink was bland, lukewarm and, well, very average. I said to Cindy, surprised at myself: “That may be my last ever visit to Starbucks.”
L'affaire est terminée. Starbucks, thank you for all the good times.