Whoops, it's been about a month since I last posted. Someday I'll be more consistent about writing in this blog - maybe that'll happen when I'm abroad next year! Maybe.
I am someone who really really likes to savor happy thoughts or experiences I have. I like to write down random little instances when something tiny made me really happy, so I can read it later when I'm not feeling as good. I used to do this back in high school too, but more in the form of writing down all the texts sent to me which made me happy, which ended up being a little excessive. (I still do this sometimes, although it's much easier that now I can screenshot things instead of handwriting everything on countless pieces of notebook paper. And yes, I know, I am a huge nerd).
I found one little story in my bag, written on three crumpled little sheets of paper from when I was working at my Starbucks over break. Generally, if you're nice to customers they'll be nice to you back. I have a lot of very disgruntled coworkers who CONSTANTLY complained about people being mean and I just want to tell them to try smiling once in a while. But still, when you mess things up, people tend to be less happy with you no matter how you act towards them. And during break we were seriously understaffed, so things got messed up much more frequently.
I'm just going to type my story word for word, even though I wrote it during my 5 min break and it was very rushed:
Today, opening Starbucks, I completely fucked up. I don't have too many tasks to do in the mornings, but one of them is turning on the oven (for sandwiches) so it can heat up. The heating up process takes an absurd amount of time for something that is the size of a microwave, but this is probably why you're supposed to turn it on as soon as you come in to open. Unfortunately, I didn't realize I had forgotten to turn it on until a guest had already ordered a sandwich and paid.
I, of course, immediately panicked, as I usually do when I realize that I've messed things up and there isn't a quick fix. On top of that, I had about six people in line, which is a LOT if you're taking orders, handling their money, making drinks, and trying to clean and do dishes.
I told the middle-aged woman that my oven wasn't quite warmed up (aka I had spaced turning it on) and she could wait a few minutes, or I could give her her money back (secretly hoping she'd take the second option). She cheerily stated that it was no problem to wait. Amidst taking orders and making drinks for the other customers, I kept glancing over and hoping that the oven would maybe pick up the pace, just for me, but no such luck. It took about eight minutes to heat up the first 400 degrees, and then a timer started for another eight minutes to heat up the last 100 degrees (because that makes sense). At that point, I felt terrible, so I threw the sandwich in the not-quite-heated oven and figured it could cook while the oven heated up. I kept checking to see if the cheese was melted, which turned out to be a very mediocre indication of whether the sandwich was heated.
When I pulled it out, the bread was burnt around the edges and too dark in some places. I had basically given up and didn't want the woman to wait anymore, so I threw it in a bag and brought it to her, along with two free drink coupons. She thanked me enthusiastically, even though she had just waited at least 15 minutes. I looked over a few minutes later to see her eating pieces of the sandwich with her hands. At first I thought "maybe she's just gluten-free and wasn't planning on eating the bread anyways!" (something only from my crazy-all natural family would consider), but I realized it was probably more likely she was just eating around the singed parts of her sandwich. I wondered if she would come complain, a fairly common occurrence with some of the older women who frequent Target. At this point, I would have completely understood and took her criticism.
Rather than doing that, she left about 15 minutes later, smiling and genuinely wishing me a nice day, like I hadn't just given her a poorly made sandwich that took 20 minutes to prepare. This isn't a particularly profound story, but it struck a random note in me. I know some days, I would have been the person to complain about the sandwich or I would've stomped off grumpily. I think sometimes I forget that little things like that really don't matter at all. It just feels so much better to be happy inside! And in ten years, I probably won't remember the shitty sandwich that someone gave me, but I will hopefully remember the random woman who joyfully ate a burned sandwich and wished me a nice day. :)
