Slightly Remarkable

A couple of weeks ago, there was a sort of “incident” at Starbucks, my previous employer. I say “incident” in quotes because, well, it was merely the perception of a completely unacceptable situation that, allegedly, never occurred. How’s that for confusing?

It was a Sunday evening. I was working with Allie and Christy, who hadn’t worked a closing shift in many months, and of course, Ronald, our store manager. Now, to understand the duties taking place, the girls and I were behind the counter serving lattes and completing our closing duties. Ronald, being the store manager, was doing inventory. His girlfriend, who works at a different Starbucks location, was doing inventory along with him.

The incident occurred when the two of them were in the storage closet, a small room next to the restroom where all of the supplies — cups, lids, straws, napkins, towels, condiments, and so on — are kept, neatly organized (by yours truly!). Due to the purpose that this storage closet serves, the baristas (that’s the girls and myself) frequently visit the closet to obtain necessary items for restockage. Christy, in a desperate search for iced Grande cups, which were quickly being depleted, went to the storage room and discovered that the door was locked.

If you can’t see what’s going on here, I will spell it out for you. Christy claimed that the door was locked, and the three of us then noted that our store manager was… missing? Of course, putting two and two together, we deduced he was in the storage room and, since his girlfriend Abby was also missing, we decided that they were in the storage closet together.

Because I am a fearless individual, I decided to check it out for myself. (Actually, I was coaxed into it by the girls, whom I blame wholly for such interloper activities.) As I approached the storage closet, the door began to open on its own. Standing my ground, pressed forward to meet my store manager face to face. His immediate response was to grab a package of green spill-stoppers (which rarely need to be restocked) and haphazardly toss them at me, saying, “Can you find a place for these?”

Obviously, the appearance was not good. He looked caught off-guard, trying to cover the situation by keeping me busy. This produced a great story, even eliciting responses from the girls about how hot it was. I quote Christy, “In a storage closet at Starbucks? That’s kind of kinky.”

For the following two weeks, this situation has been an ongoing inside joke among the three of us. Ronald has been totally oblivious to our jabs at him concerning the situation, producing hysterical results.

This Wednesday (the 18th), I’m having lunch (at Starbucks, no less), and my — no, the — store manager walks in. He says he needs to talk to me, so I walk over to the counter with him. He begins talking about the situation, still in disbelief from hearing about it from Allie, and learns about all the jokes we’ve been making about him. To clear up any confusion, he wanted to let me know that nothing was going on and that the door was not, in fact, locked. Because I genuinely believe him (although his career would be at risk otherwise), I am inclined to believe that Christy thought the storage room handle didn’t need to be turned. (We recently replaced a handle that was defective and required no turning — it simply opened upon pushing the door whether you turned the handle or not.)

My hypothesis is that this is all the result of a defective door handle, and so the moral of the story is that, to those of you who are store managers with girlfriends that hang around while you do inventory (as I’m sure most of you are), please keep your employees informed concerning the door handle situation. We may only be peons, but we need to have a “handle” on things as well. (I know, bad joke.) And if nothing else, just leave the door open. Really, it makes gossip much less likely.

And what is the official name of those green spill-stopper things?!