Dear Starbucks:
I know that you know that I under most circumstances do not condone who you are or what you do. I know for this you are probably somewhat disappointed, but I think I make it up to you every 30 days when I’m forced to use my “rewards card” in order to log-on to the internet (provided by a company that already steals $45 a month from me for my phone) in your establishment. Why don’t I just go somewhere else and stop complaining, you ask? Well, here in this small town, the only local coffee place closes at 7, so I’m forced to support you with my gift card internet revenue and my $3 apple ciders.
But, why am I writing you now, you ask? (you are always good asking the good questions, bucksy) Well, because you 20 year old baristas are insisting on passing their time working, earning money to spend on Diesel jeans and chuck tayors, listening to the 60s greatest soul hits ON FULL BLAST in your restaurant.
Come ‘on, the Bucks, give me a break. It’s hard enough to switch on my mac in here with the other 74 college people and find a plug, but then I am forced to listen to your barista with the stylish hairdo sign along to Wilson Pickett? Seriously, Star-to-the-Bucks, turn it down. Or I may be forced to drive 3 miles and spend my time at the other Starbucks in town.
Yours,
Jessica