I close tonight at Starbucks. My first Saturday night shift, not all that excited about it though, as my social life must suffer.
I took this job in August with aspirations to minister to the world, one caffeine addict at a time, but have come to the realization that the true ministry occurs between me and my co-workers.
That actually scares me more.
In my estimation, it's easier to hang out the window with a smile, passing out custom beverages, and modeling Christ's love, than to uphold Christ's image, day-in day-out to my colleagues. I can hold my breath (
and my tongue) for almost a minute. I can comfortably represent Christ just as long. Starbucks has shown me that much past that, I’m as good as pagan.
The past few weeks, I've seen a new depth to my depravity. I've gotten frustrated with the management, the shift supervisors, and a few customers who order a drink with 17 modifiers then change their mind after keying it all into the register.
In the midst of this, however, I've seen a glimmer of hope. I've seen God's grace shine through.
A few weeks ago, I had a run in with a shift supervisor. His actions frustrated me. I voiced my opinion: to the side, no emotion attached. He, apparently, did not like how I handled it, wishing I approached him differently. This took me back as I thought my actions were biblical, thus, justified to deal not only with the world like this but certainly with a fellow Christian. Seeking validation or perhaps another way to handle future situations, I began asking other managers at work how they would like me to confront them if I had a problem with something they were doing.
At the time, I didn't realize the value of this information. In essence, I discovered how they felt respected but also revealed to them what I preferred.
Tuesday night, my shift supervisor gave me opportunity to develop my “bar” skills by running the espresso machine for the drive-thru. Those too busy to walk in contribute 75% of our total revenue. Needless to say, on bar you make drinks continually. I excel at the register, when I make drinks, I always run out of milk.
This shift, I felt a new type of stress. One I had not experienced since my first Saturday morning rush on register. The continual “ding” of customers, overloaded my multitasking abilities as I went from ½ caf, grande, 2 pump sugar free vanilla, 3 splenda, soy mocha to triple venti, nonfat, light whip, extra hot, add cinnamon, eggnog latte.
This shift, I also felt neglected by my supervisor. Although, Starbucks policy requires barista’s to take 10 minute breaks every 2-3 hours and a 30 minute lunch after 4, I had received neither near the 5 hour mark. I was overwhelmed, hungry, and growing bitter toward the lack of courtesy on my supervisor’s part. Jokingly, I would remind her of my needs but they never seemed to sink in.
Understanding the futility of my cues, I morphed into a 10 year old and resorted to the silent treatment. Now as a drone ant, I amplified my productivity, a robot in action, no longer greeting, making small talk, or smiling.
I had a job to do.
I forgot for the moment, my outlook,
my ministry. Well past the 60 second masquerade, I thought only of myself.
As the night went on, I received 2 of my 3 breaks, but never said more than a handful of words to my supervisor. We finished the close, the other two workers left and as I clocked out, she asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yup.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” halfway irritated, halfway thankful, the locked up 27 year old slowly returning.
“You sure?”
“Yes...now.”
This girl, who seems to have a beef against the church, proceeded to use the advice I gave her last week about confronting someone. Yes, she took my advice (
biblical advice), the seminary student just wanted to go home. She waited until we could talk alone, then asked what happened. No emotions were attached on either side, which surprised me that my internal rage had already evaporated. Her concern instantly changed my attitude but how unfair that I remained annoyed until she asked.
That night contained inward conflict, knowing God loves
me even when
I don’t acknowledge my wrongs.
How can I expect more from others? My prayers now petition for strength to show grace and seek forgiveness as I mess up.
It seems ministry among my fellow workers will not show the painted-on smile of a Believer, but just a guy, not so put together, still messing up, prideful and at times offensive.
I see, finally, how a broken man, not a perfect man, serves as a better witness to God’s grace.
