My day started as it usually does. I went to the gym, I took a shower, I walked to the coffee shop, I ordered a coffee, I set up my laptop on a table tucked away in the far corner, away from the noisy overhead speakers.
There were only three people working at the coffee shop, two people behind the counter and another person sitting at a table, reviewing a notebook. I assume the person at the table was a manager, perhaps performing administrative type tasks, taking inventory of the store.
Suddenly, I overheard the manager get exasperated, saying something along the lines of: Ugh these numbers are way off. I guess it’s just going to be one of those days.
She then took out her phone to make a call and correct the issue (or at least that’s what it seemed like to me). She spoke into the phone with a Philly accent: Hey, how are ya? Oh me, yeah, I’m not doing too good. My kitty just died, yeah, yeah, I know. Thank ya. Anyway, listen, the numbers are off…
The conversation trailed off. I immediately felt sorry for her. What was for me an ordinary day was for her a fragile, sorrowful slog through the motions. She showed up to work, overcoming the grief of a lost pet, to do her job.
A few hours passed, customers came, customers went. I listened to some music in my headphones. Things began to slow down as the morning rush passed.
Then, I noticed that the manager was irritated once again, clearly frustrated about something, pacing back and forth behind the counter. I turned my music off to listen.
…And now the schedule’s not done, I don’t even know how many hours my department is supposed to have.
The manager vented to the two other employees, who shook their heads in agreement. She continued her rant: I’m sorry I’m just going through a lot. If I get snippy, don’t take it personal, you guys are doing a great job.
She sat down at one of the tables, next to one of the other employees, also sitting at a table. She continued: Say a prayer for me. I’m not doing good at all. None of my family…
She mumbled the rest of that sentence under her breath as she choked back tears. She turned to the employee: Do ya suffer from depression? Oh, ya don’t? You’re lucky. I’ve been diagnosed with it. It just seems like every time I try to get in the right direction and put one foot forward, I get fucked. To be honest, I was doing good, and now it’s just like, damn. I’m sorry, I deal with depression.
Things went quiet for a bit after that. The manager and employee sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, the manager attempted an indirect apology for her outburst: I’ve been working with a psychiatrist, the medicine’s been making me feel goofy, ya know.
The entire time, I didn’t look over at them. I didn’t want the manager to feel like she was making a scene in front of a customer. So I kept my head down, intently focused on my laptop.
The episode ended there, the call of duty struck. A customer walked in, and they went back to work.
How strange it is to work…
We are expected to show up at a time and place. To do our job. We take it seriously. We want to be respected, to earn our keep. And yet, we forget that we are human first. We neglect the grief that comes with a dead pet. We power through. We make an americano with cream and two Splenda. We get frustrated about the schedule. We overshare to our employees. We test our breaking point.
We are all, at some point, a manager, at a coffee shop, on a Wednesday morning, whose cat just died.
As the saying goes: you never know what someone is going through, so be kind.
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My day started as it usually does. I went to the gym, I took a shower, I walked to the coffee shop, I ordered a coffee, I set up my laptop on a table tucked away in the far corner, away from the noisy overhead speakers.
There were only three people working at the coffee shop, two people behind the counter and another person sitting at a table, reviewing a notebook. I assume the person at the table was a manager, perhaps performing administrative type tasks, taking inventory of the store.
Suddenly, I overheard the manager get exasperated, saying something along the lines of: Ugh these numbers are way off. I guess it’s just going to be one of those days.
She then took out her phone to make a call and correct the issue (or at least that’s what it seemed like to me). She spoke into the phone with a Philly accent: Hey, how are ya? Oh me, yeah, I’m not doing too good. My kitty just died, yeah, yeah, I know. Thank ya. Anyway, listen, the numbers are off…
The conversation trailed off. I immediately felt sorry for her. What was for me an ordinary day was for her a fragile, sorrowful slog through the motions. She showed up to work, overcoming the grief of a lost pet, to do her job.
A few hours passed, customers came, customers went. I listened to some music in my headphones. Things began to slow down as the morning rush passed.
Then, I noticed that the manager was irritated once again, clearly frustrated about something, pacing back and forth behind the counter. I turned my music off to listen.
…And now the schedule’s not done, I don’t even know how many hours my department is supposed to have.
The manager vented to the two other employees, who shook their heads in agreement. She continued her rant: I’m sorry I’m just going through a lot. If I get snippy, don’t take it personal, you guys are doing a great job.
She sat down at one of the tables, next to one of the other employees, also sitting at a table. She continued: Say a prayer for me. I’m not doing good at all. None of my family…
She mumbled the rest of that sentence under her breath as she choked back tears. She turned to the employee: Do ya suffer from depression? Oh, ya don’t? You’re lucky. I’ve been diagnosed with it. It just seems like every time I try to get in the right direction and put one foot forward, I get fucked. To be honest, I was doing good, and now it’s just like, damn. I’m sorry, I deal with depression.
Things went quiet for a bit after that. The manager and employee sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, the manager attempted an indirect apology for her outburst: I’ve been working with a psychiatrist, the medicine’s been making me feel goofy, ya know.
The entire time, I didn’t look over at them. I didn’t want the manager to feel like she was making a scene in front of a customer. So I kept my head down, intently focused on my laptop.
The episode ended there, the call of duty struck. A customer walked in, and they went back to work.
How strange it is to work…
We are expected to show up at a time and place. To do our job. We take it seriously. We want to be respected, to earn our keep. And yet, we forget that we are human first. We neglect the grief that comes with a dead pet. We power through. We make an americano with cream and two Splenda. We get frustrated about the schedule. We overshare to our employees. We test our breaking point.
We are all, at some point, a manager, at a coffee shop, on a Wednesday morning, whose cat just died.
As the saying goes: you never know what someone is going through, so be kind.
