I don’t drink Starbucks for one singular reason: I don’t drink coffee.
I had a half a cup when I was 11 years old and it tasted like boiled tar – or at least what I assumed boiled tar would taste like – even when heavily dosed with sugar and cream, and I’ve never had an urge to repeat the experience.
That said, I can say with certainty that neither me nor my wallet are the Starbucks’ type.
The one time I did stop into the local store and asked for a Coke, I was told in a snotty tone by a 20-something “barista,” who had with more piercings than I cared to count, that “We don’t served carbonated beverages here.”
He said it in a tone as though I’d requested an omelette made from the eggs of the last two California condors remaining on Earth.
I will confess that I’m not certain what Starbucks’ customer training entails, but I suspect shaming and self-righteousness are key components.