Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Ah, dear reader. WhiteTrashMocha has taken the advice of a dear friend and will regale you with stories of her new job.

A patron approached me today while I was working at the desk. The young man asked, "Excuse me, are you the li-bear-ian?" The other librarians at the desk snorted, a regular patron who was chatting us up started laughing so hard he had to walk off, but WhiteTrashMocha speaks Moron, so the situation was quickly diffused.

"Uh. Yes."

Mothers, teach your babies to talk right. Otherwise, everyone else will make fun of them.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

WhiteTrashMocha has been most lax in keeping you, her dear readers, abreast of the newest developments in her Starbucks world.

Alack and alas, WhiteTrashMocha is no longer employed by the 'Bux. You see, one weekend it came down to it: the 'Bux or going to Chicago with her lovely gentleman friend. Yes... that is a hard decision, isn't it?

So, I'm free, fuckers, I'm free!!!

Thursday, July 13, 2006


WhiteTrashMocha has most excellent news to share with you, her fine reader. She got a new job! A good job that pays twice as much as the 'bux and is in a library. WhiteTrashMocha is now a librarian. Huzzah!

As much as WhiteTrashMocha would love to leave the Starbucks (read: burn the Starbucks down) she will continue to work one shift a week in order to keep her discount, her markout, and her job, in case upon graduation, she cannot find a full time position. This is terribly lovely, indeed.

WhiteTrashMocha did celebrate with a fine cocktail of cranberry juice and peach vodka. Oh yes, a very fine day!

Monday, July 03, 2006


The new, cool thing at my 'bux, is to schedule WhiteTrashMocha to a certain shift (let's say from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.) then halfway into her shift, ask her to stay until 9 p.m. WhiteTrashMocha is a very reasonable girl. Should the 'bux have scheduled her until 9 p.m. she would gladly work her shift.


WhiteTrashMocha revolts every time management asks her to stay later because she knows that she will end up working her arse off when at least two other baristas on the floor could not possibly be bothered to do their job. So WhiteTrashMocha always says no, that she has plans, that she has to wash her hair, cut herself a little to make the pain go away, hang out with friends, whatever.

This past Sunday, she was so looking forward to going home, showering, and heading up to her daddy's for a home-cooked meal with a homemade cherry cobbler... mmmm. Anyway, like death and taxes, her shift asks her to stay an extra four hours. WhiteTrashMocha responded with, "I would rather listen to the death rattle of my only child than to stay one more minute past five."

Can you believe WhiteTrashMocha was then punished? Punished with washing windows outside in 95 degree weather? Punished with washing windows with a solution that eats up the skin on her hands? (Despite her gruff exterior, WhiteTrashMocha is very sensitive.) The 'bux is intolerably cruel!

(Thanks David Cross for the inspiration. When her hands heal, she would surely like to shake your hand.)

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Cranky Bean

Tonight, I am a cranky bean. I really want to complain about how much I despise the 'Bux but I don't really feel up to it. Partially this is because the Green Tea matcha powder we use for the Great Tea Frappuchino/Green Tea Latte smells like grass and because WhiteTrashMocha is violently allergic to grass. A n00b barista sent a green tea cloud that could destroy Japan through the bar and sent WhiteTrashMocha into a violent coughing fit and exacerbated her asthma. WhiteTrashMocha fully admits that she is the wheezy nerdy kid you sat next to in grade school. Yes, the one that sneezed and wheezed through everything.

WhiteTrashMocha is also unduly upset because she had a job interview today. She is terribly concerned she will not get the job and will end up working at the 'Bux until she is 500 years old and dies (either from matcha powder poisoning or from the weight of a pitcher of steamed whole milk). It could be said that WhiteTrashMocha worries too much but she can't help it. WhiteTrashMocha desperately wants to be a librarian and not a barista.

Perhaps tomorrow night, WhiteTrashMocha will feel better and regale you, her enchanting reader(s), of her trials at the Starbucks.

Until then,

Monday, June 19, 2006

Drive Thru: Why you should get out of the damn car and go inside.

I realize that the drive thru serves a valid purpose. Its purpose being to give me an ulcer. Or a brain tumor. Namely, if a customer is too lazy to get out of the car yet complains about the wait time, this customer deserves an automatic inclusion on the shitlist. (One does not want to inked in on WhiteTrashMocha's shitlist. WhiteTrashMocha can make anyone feel uncomfortable if she so desires. Yes, WhiteTrashMocha has talked about this in therapy.)

What boggles my mind about people and drive thrus is that your basic four-toothed, Ford-Taurus-station-wagon-driving, eighth-grade-educated, redneck asshole who has never before seen or heard of Starbucks will idle at the drive thru and proceed to ask you what's inside every single drink listed on the menu board. Said asshole will then proceed to order a plain coffee or a white mocha. (Hence the name, white trash mocha.)

Why do people do this? Is it so hard to get out of the damn car and ask a real person some questions? If you didn't know me as WhiteTrashMocha, and you came into my 'bux, you might find that I am actually a nice and helpful barista. (It's only when provoked that I become the Incredible Hulk.) Despite my utter horror in regards to the human race, I am bound and determined to go into a profession that demands I make a commitment to serve the general public. (This may or may not be a good idea. Right now, we're running with it because it seems more productive than fleeing the country to avoid paying my student loans. Do you think Fruvous would play in Cuba? Just a thought...)

Anyway... seriously. I will never understand people. Just get out of the car. Talk to a human being. Before we're all replaced by Indians or robots or something...

Boycotting the Bux, what I meant to write last time

So... one might wonder, "Gee WhiteTrashMocha, why is it that you are boycotting the 'bux?" Well if you can't tell that I hate the place, then you're a fool. Or illiterate. Sorry about you if you're illiterate.

Anyway, I am boycotting the 'bux because I enjoy believing that I possess higher levels of critical thinking skills than your average bear. Those with these skills ultimately do not do well at the 'bux. Those without these skills become shift supervisors and assistant managers. I do like several of my shift supervisors and one of my assistant managers as people. As management, they've been stripped of their humanity. Eichmann is slightly more lovable than one of my assistant managers.

While I continue to show up for my shifts, I politely decline to do any work. This is quite like many people on staff. It's extraordinary for me because for some reason I am far more accountable than many people at the store. I have a problem with this. If Corky can drool and stare blankly through her 20 hours a week, I think I should be able to do the same.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Boycotting the Bux: week one

In my store, there is a barista that I will call "Corky." I shall call her Corky because she is retarded.

Corky has been with the Starbucks for the better part of six months and still does not know how to make drinks, how to call out drinks, how to run the register, or how to walk without running into others.

Ultimately, I could care less, only Corky gets to keep her job and everyone else has to do her work. Still, people like Corky have a place in society. This place is the butt of my jokes.

However, a nasty customer dared to compare me to Corky. Therefore, he shall forever be on my shitlist. Picture it...

I am in the back running fresh dishwater. I see a customer up front and go up to help him. (Aside: said customer is notoriously bad about trashing our cafe. He leaves his newspaper spread out over three or four tables, leaves crumbs and cups on the floor. I am convinced the fucker believes our cafe is his living room.) Only he can't decide what he wants and I tell him I'm going back to the back to watch my water and I will be right back. I walk back to the back, inspect my water, turn it off, dry my hands, and come back out to the front.

Corky proceeded to help the customer. Good. Fine with me. Except, please remember Corky is a retard and must be watched lest she burn the place down or hit her head. I go back out and ask the customer if he's been taken care of. He proceeds to tell me that I could learn a few lessons from Corky. That Corky is a better barista than I am. And that I do not belong at a Starbucks and that I could go back to do more dishes. Oh bitch.

I said, "No kidding I don't belong here. I'm six classes away from having my Master's. Thanks for the attitude, Captain. Enjoy your drink."

At least the bastard didn't destroy the cafe. He paid for his drink and left. Now, every time he comes in, I always make it a point to make him feel a little uncomfortable. Some say it's rude. I say, it's one of the few perks.

I swear to God, I will eat your pets.

I have a shift supervisor whose voice causes me undue emotional trauma. Seriously, I hear her voice and the pitch is just perfect to induce seizures and mental retardation.

She's a good girl and it's hard for me to say anything nasty about her except: