More than Coffee and Donuts at the Drive-thru Window

I wrote the following piece for a college assignment in an editorial/opinion writing class. At the time, I didn’t know I was embarking on a lifelong journey of learning complexity, or, more specifically, that there are many swirling complexities and contexts in every diverse person’s life. I find the glimpse of the world through a drive-thru window metaphorically appropriate for a soon-to-be college graduate.

This is certainly not the best thing I’ve ever written, but I’ve held onto it all these years as a sort of flagship piece given its deeper meaning to me now.

“You have been punched in” echoed in my ears as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and glanced at the job chart for the day. I had to run the register at the drive-thru window.

My job experience at Dunkin’ Donuts taught me more about people than any college-level psychology or sociology class I’ve ever taken. The nature of a coffee franchise draws people from different walks of life (America really does run on Dunkin’. What a brilliant ad campaign.) I’d wait on the bejeweled woman in the new Mercedes, and the next car to pull up might be a beat-up hatchback with a couple of teenage guys in it. I saw people in bathing suits, pajamas, business suits and sweatshirts. I saw moms, kids, dogs, carpenters, plumbers, lawyers, bank execs, people with disabilities, retirees, tourists, and students. People from all walks of life, young and old, trekked in to obtain their dose of caffeine without a second thought as to what they looked like or how much they were spending.

You think people are nice until you get their food order wrong. Most of the time, it was the customer’s ignorance and failure to order properly that brought about the mistake. Then the world is at an end.

But of course, whose fault is it? The stupid kid behind the counter. Folks would come in, glance at the menu board and promptly say, “I’ll have a humshlmenium.” I’d reply with a very friendly “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Only to be blasted with a “I SAID I WANT A BLUEBERRY MUFFIN. SNAP OUT OF IT, KID.” Oh, but I was snapped out of it. I just didn’t have the ability to understand people who are too lazy to open their mouths and speak their order succinctly.

And because of these kinds of individuals, I’d be much too scared to ask the next guy to repeat his order. So, instead of getting the jelly crullers he asked for (in a mumbly sort of way), I’d risk thinking I knew what he said and get him the jelly donuts. “I SAID CRULLERS, KID. THE ONES ON TOP. UP THERE. TWO OF THEM.” And he’d hold up two fingers because I was in kindergarten and unsure of how many two actually was. I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from retorting with rude comments or sinister sarcasm.

Aside from the jerks, work provided me an opportunity to meet some very nice people. One lady in particular always paid for her order and for the car behind her. No kidding. One guy always left a tip that was almost or just as much as his actual order. I’d hand him his as-large-as-humanly-possible iced mocha latte with whipped cream, withdraw my hand back into the window before the Rottweiler in his car could bite my hand off, and expect him to drive off gulping his drink with his dog drooling beside him. But I’d glance over again to see he was waiting for me to take the several paper bills from his hand. With a “Here ya go. You all do a good job,” he’d drive off, latte and drooling dog in tow. All I did was hand him his drink and make sure he got a long straw instead of a short one. Needless to say, it was these kinds of people who made my job easier and a lot more meaningful.

My eyes were opened to demographics, to personalities, to lots of different people who just wanted a cup of coffee. If only working a job of this nature was required of every human being, we could all learn a whole lot more about ourselves and the world.