Dear Starbucks

Dear Starbucks,

It’s been a rough week or two, but it seems as though the general public has responded well to your anti-bias training on the heels of “bathroom-gate.” ABC doesn’t seem to be fairing so well, but that’s a different story for a different day.

Today I want to focus on you.

I’ve been a somewhat reluctant fan of yours since the late 1990s, when I moved to Chicago from Topeka, Kansas. I say “reluctant” because as much as I wanted to be into artisanal coffee, that grande vanilla latte (I want regular milk please!) just kept me coming back. I think it was probably the sweetness of the milk spiked with espresso that was most appealing. Truth be told, I don’t know if your coffee is really any good or not (I’ve been told by my snobby coffee friends it’s not) – I just know it doesn’t taste bitter and that’s good enough for me.

Over the years, moving from city to city, working remotely much of the time, traveling from country to country, there was a unique comfort I found in spotting a Starbucks and knowing I could nestle in there for a couple hours. I’ve never been kicked out of a Starbucks for any reason – that is a gift I’m likely afforded because of things I had nothing to do with really (skin color being one) – although I have fought a homeless person for a coveted spot by the window on one rare occasion. Oh New York.

This comfort, this home away from home, is probably the way many of us have come to feel about Starbucks. I know one of your current core values is: “Creating a culture of warmth and belonging, where everyone is welcome.” Perhaps the first part of this you are doing remarkably well, while the latter half could use some work, but at least you’re making the attempt.

With regard to the first part – the comfort, the warmth – there is another, deeper aspect to it. Comfort doesn’t only happen within the four walls of an establishment, it happens with the consistency of what you’re serving, and the experiences created around it.

Last April (2017), I made my way from San Francisco, California to Nashville, Tennessee – my new home. Along the way, I stopped in Topeka to visit my extended family and ailing grandmother. That week, I brought her a Mocha Frappuccino every day (Topeka now has several Starbucks, thank you). She could no longer eat solid food, and I knew she loved chocolate, so it was the best solution I could come up with. My grandfather would sneak sips, sitting sweetly beside the love of his life watching her float in and out of this dimension and the next.

She couldn’t speak at this point, but scolded him with her eyes as if to say “Get your paws off my Frappuccino mister!” This was done, of course, with a twinkle in her eye. It was in those small moments that I realized, probably for the first time, what the words "until death do us part" really mean.

The last day I brought her this Starbucks treat was the same day hospice came. After that, it was drinking water from a sponge for one long week. One of her last comforts was getting to share a Mocha Frappuccino with her honey while her children and grandchildren sat around giving her attention and love – knowing the end was near.

Yesterday my mother texted me: “What's that thing you bring Grandpa now from Starbucks when you visit?” It was his birthday, so she was swinging by to say hello and to bring him some comfort.

“Mocha Frappaccino” I replied quickly. “Make sure to get a grande though. He gets a little extra today.”

So, Starbucks, as you re-tool the way we all think about racism – and perhaps lend some insight into how we can all become better, and more civil, citizens to each other – I did want to say thank you for these small comforts. I suppose we all have things to work on, it’s a daily struggle, really, to get it right. But in the Age of Invective, it’s nice to hear words of appreciation once in awhile too.

Sincerely,

R.