How I tried to hate Starbucks, but just couldn't

With afternoons suddenly free for job searching, I made a goal to try a new coffee shop each day. Why fuel the giant Starbucks fire when I can support Sayid, the African-native and owner of La Citadelle on 16th who woos the ladies with his "bonjours" and "au revoirs," and works overtime all the time so he can one day bring his struggling family here to join him?

Why use my hard-earned dollars to support those bastardized, sugar-laden signature concoctions they call coffee when I can mosey down to 12th Street Espresso where the smell of the beans wafts for blocks and they paint picturesque designs with the foam atop your latte?

The choice seems clear. But it isn't always that simple. From a marketing perspective, the Starbucks brand is gold. Immaculately consistent communications with cult-like consumer loyalty--I can't help but respect that.

One day I found myself cashless. Starbucks takes debit with no minimum charge. I had a book to read. Starbucks has the largest dining area. And so, last Sunday I broke my clean streak. I'd been to the Bucks at 15th and Latimer many times in the past, mostly to feed my Sunday Times addiction and before I moved to my moral high ground. I recognized many faces there, but none well enough to know any names.

The barista position, like many other hospitality jobs, often attracts 20- and 30-somethings who aspire to do more, but aren't having the best of luck. So when a mild mannered employee approached me to ask if I'd participate in a quick quality assurance survey, I welcomed him to my table and we chatted for a few minutes. He asked me pre-formulated questions about my visit and jotted some required notes, but we quickly moved on to other topics. Like me, he was looking for a job. I told him I used to be a barista and he congratulated me on "getting out." He told me his name was James and handed me a coupon for a free drink at my next visit.

During my short time as a Starbucks barista, there were times when everyone in the cafe fell silent. Some stared out the windows. Some buried their noses in books. Some tapped their feet faintly to the beat of their iPod. There was magic in those brief and infrequent moments. During them, I liked what I did and I knew I was doing something good. Doing what a coffee shop was meant to do--be a peaceful, cozy haven for people of all kinds. And that's what my local Starbucks was last Sunday. Quiet except for the pssst of the milk steamer and tinkle of the coffee cascading into the paper cups.

I guess it's that, and the connection I feel to the employees with whom I've been in the same boat, that I just can't stay away.

Of course, during those golden moments, it was never long before a gaggle of giggling high school girls poured in, demanding foamy, whipped, quadruple choco-mocha caramel crap. Or before a very important businessman burst in screaming into his bluetooth, stopping only to bark an order and throw a twenty dollar bill in your face. That's when I went back to hating the job and everything about the fact that I worked there.

So save for their coffee monopoly, Starbucks has its moments. It has some great employees. It's a really well executed brand. And for those reasons, I will alternate between Starbucks and my other favorite, but independently-owned coffee shops.

Sorry Sayid, I tried.