I never set out to write ads or turn my blog into a money-making venture, so it came as somewhat of a surprise when Howard Schultz, the CEO of Starbucks, contacted me yesterday and asked me to write a blog-ad (“blad”) about Starbucks coffee.
“Is this MOV?” he asked into the phone.
“Yes.”
“This is Mr. Schultz, and I hear you like Starbucks, and that you write a blog. How would you like to do both at the same time?”
I had tried many, many times to drink Starbucks and write simultaneously, and it mostly just resulted in me knocking over my coffee and my keyboard shorting out.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Schultz, but I think you have the wrong person. I never do ads. It is against my religion, against my aesthetic, and against my readers’ positive perception of me as ad-free.”
“I will pay you one million dollars, plus a month’s worth of free coffee.”
“I was just thinking how I should revise my aesthetic. When do you need the blog posted by?”
(Lucky for me that Mr. Schultz doesn’t know I would’ve done it just for the free coffee.)
MOV
Showing posts with label Starbucks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Starbucks. Show all posts
Monday, September 5, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
391. Tipsy
I’ve always been confused about tipping. A dollar? 20%? Nothing? A five? Who knows. Entire libraries of books have been devoted to this very topic, and yet, even after reading all of them, I still have trouble getting it right.
I know I’m not the only one. One summer when I was in college, I hostessed at an elegant restaurant located on a lovely strip of beach in California. It was the type of place where men were expected to don a jacket and tie, and ladies felt compelled to wear lipstick, brand new stilettos, and outfits that most likely equated to a month’s rent for me. The dining room typically ran a wait of about two hours if you didn’t have the foresight to book a reservation eight weeks in advance.
Since I was the hostess, I was obviously the gatekeeper. If you tipped me $100, that pesky two hour wait evaporated into mere seconds while I quickly shuffled some papers around to miraculously find your “misplaced” reservation. I had your table for you, and that table was front and center on the window with the best view of surfers riding those movie-caliber waves.
Once, someone tried to tip me a dollar. One dollar. I glanced at the faded bill (which appeared to have gone through the dryer on the highest setting), looked at the gentleman, and politely gave the sad dollar back, saying, “Oh, thank you, sir, but we’re not allowed to accept tips.” Instead, he and his date waited patiently in the bar for the full two hours, and judging by his drunken demeanor when I finally awarded them their table, he had probably drunk $100 worth of alcohol while he waited. Perhaps that money would’ve been better spent on my tip.
I’m not saying that $100 was an appropriate tip for an 18-year-old hostess. It was excessive. I probably would’ve found him a very nice table for the bargain basement price of $50, maybe even $20. But $5? No. $10? Hope you enjoy sitting next to the restroom or busing station.
It’s easy enough to figure out the tip for the waitress when you’re at a restaurant and the bill comes to $50: good service merits 20%. But what if it’s a casual café where you order at the counter and then the girl brings it to you? In that case, 20% seems too high (and would I just leave the tip on the table? and if so, then isn’t a different person than the girl who took my order getting the money?).
What about hairdressers who charge $200? Is 20% okay? Is it too high? What if the person who does your hair is the owner of the shop? I’ve read that in that case, you should not tip. But I would feel embarrassed not to tip for fear of offending him.
And Starbucks? Should I put a dollar in the tip jar for the clerk when my drink cost $3.85? We had an interaction that was approximately 30 seconds long, and he's not even the one making my extra-hot grande triple latte with no foam.
I used to work at a paint-your-own pottery place. I would work a child's birthday party and instruct 24 rambunctious five-year-olds on how to paint a ceramic giraffe or unicorn. Then, I would paint the kids' initials on the pieces and glaze them while the rowdy wannabe Picassos bounced impatiently around the fragile shop. Next, I would help the parents serve pizza and cake, and distribute goody bags. Finally, I would clean everything up. These birthday parties usually lasted two hours and cost $300. And my normal tip for entertaining and instructing these little people I would never see again? Zero.
That's right, the Starbucks cashier gets a dollar (or two!) for a time commitment of 30 seconds (Hello, may I take your order?) while I amuse two dozen kindergartners for two long hours for no tip, not even a piece of overly-sweet cake.
Apparently I am not the only one confused about tipping.
Thank goodness I don’t live in New York, the capital of Tipping Wrong. Every time I go there, I get a complex within minutes of stepping off the plane. Everyone seems to have their hand out, and that hand is expecting crisp green dollars in double-digit denominations. The taxi driver who maneuvered you uptown through heavy traffic. The bell boy who carried your one small suitcase (but that you felt weird about saying No, I can carry it myself). The front desk clerk who just upgraded you to a suite with no extra charge. The concierge who scored you last-minute tickets to the theater. Everyone is waiting, and they are waiting for your tip, your gratitude, your mouth to open and the words pour out, “Thank you,” while you slip your hand quickly in your pocket and produce multiple pictures of a smiling Andrew Jackson.
You, yourself, however, are not smiling. You are worried you tipped too much. The bell boy practically does a back handspring when you hand him a ten, and you realize a five would’ve sufficed. The angry glare the doorman gives you tells you that maybe you should have upgraded that one dollar bill to a five when he hailed you a cab.
One day I woke up and realized I couldn’t handle it anymore. I am a bad tipper, I am an overly-generous tipper, I am a non-tipper. My life is one big swirl of dollar bills and they are all the wrong size.
I found an easy way out, a solution so I never have to tip again, ever: I got married. Now, The Husband is in charge of tipping while I gather up our two sons and all their accoutrements and head to the car, turning to The Husband and saying loudly (in earshot of our beleaguered waiter), “Remember to tip well! They gave us great service!” That way, even if The Husband tips poorly—which I don’t think he would do—the waiter will say, “Well, at least his wife was nice. She told him to tip well.”
MOV
("Money Or Vexation?")
I know I’m not the only one. One summer when I was in college, I hostessed at an elegant restaurant located on a lovely strip of beach in California. It was the type of place where men were expected to don a jacket and tie, and ladies felt compelled to wear lipstick, brand new stilettos, and outfits that most likely equated to a month’s rent for me. The dining room typically ran a wait of about two hours if you didn’t have the foresight to book a reservation eight weeks in advance.
Since I was the hostess, I was obviously the gatekeeper. If you tipped me $100, that pesky two hour wait evaporated into mere seconds while I quickly shuffled some papers around to miraculously find your “misplaced” reservation. I had your table for you, and that table was front and center on the window with the best view of surfers riding those movie-caliber waves.
Once, someone tried to tip me a dollar. One dollar. I glanced at the faded bill (which appeared to have gone through the dryer on the highest setting), looked at the gentleman, and politely gave the sad dollar back, saying, “Oh, thank you, sir, but we’re not allowed to accept tips.” Instead, he and his date waited patiently in the bar for the full two hours, and judging by his drunken demeanor when I finally awarded them their table, he had probably drunk $100 worth of alcohol while he waited. Perhaps that money would’ve been better spent on my tip.
I’m not saying that $100 was an appropriate tip for an 18-year-old hostess. It was excessive. I probably would’ve found him a very nice table for the bargain basement price of $50, maybe even $20. But $5? No. $10? Hope you enjoy sitting next to the restroom or busing station.
It’s easy enough to figure out the tip for the waitress when you’re at a restaurant and the bill comes to $50: good service merits 20%. But what if it’s a casual café where you order at the counter and then the girl brings it to you? In that case, 20% seems too high (and would I just leave the tip on the table? and if so, then isn’t a different person than the girl who took my order getting the money?).
What about hairdressers who charge $200? Is 20% okay? Is it too high? What if the person who does your hair is the owner of the shop? I’ve read that in that case, you should not tip. But I would feel embarrassed not to tip for fear of offending him.
And Starbucks? Should I put a dollar in the tip jar for the clerk when my drink cost $3.85? We had an interaction that was approximately 30 seconds long, and he's not even the one making my extra-hot grande triple latte with no foam.
I used to work at a paint-your-own pottery place. I would work a child's birthday party and instruct 24 rambunctious five-year-olds on how to paint a ceramic giraffe or unicorn. Then, I would paint the kids' initials on the pieces and glaze them while the rowdy wannabe Picassos bounced impatiently around the fragile shop. Next, I would help the parents serve pizza and cake, and distribute goody bags. Finally, I would clean everything up. These birthday parties usually lasted two hours and cost $300. And my normal tip for entertaining and instructing these little people I would never see again? Zero.
That's right, the Starbucks cashier gets a dollar (or two!) for a time commitment of 30 seconds (Hello, may I take your order?) while I amuse two dozen kindergartners for two long hours for no tip, not even a piece of overly-sweet cake.
Apparently I am not the only one confused about tipping.
Thank goodness I don’t live in New York, the capital of Tipping Wrong. Every time I go there, I get a complex within minutes of stepping off the plane. Everyone seems to have their hand out, and that hand is expecting crisp green dollars in double-digit denominations. The taxi driver who maneuvered you uptown through heavy traffic. The bell boy who carried your one small suitcase (but that you felt weird about saying No, I can carry it myself). The front desk clerk who just upgraded you to a suite with no extra charge. The concierge who scored you last-minute tickets to the theater. Everyone is waiting, and they are waiting for your tip, your gratitude, your mouth to open and the words pour out, “Thank you,” while you slip your hand quickly in your pocket and produce multiple pictures of a smiling Andrew Jackson.
You, yourself, however, are not smiling. You are worried you tipped too much. The bell boy practically does a back handspring when you hand him a ten, and you realize a five would’ve sufficed. The angry glare the doorman gives you tells you that maybe you should have upgraded that one dollar bill to a five when he hailed you a cab.
One day I woke up and realized I couldn’t handle it anymore. I am a bad tipper, I am an overly-generous tipper, I am a non-tipper. My life is one big swirl of dollar bills and they are all the wrong size.
I found an easy way out, a solution so I never have to tip again, ever: I got married. Now, The Husband is in charge of tipping while I gather up our two sons and all their accoutrements and head to the car, turning to The Husband and saying loudly (in earshot of our beleaguered waiter), “Remember to tip well! They gave us great service!” That way, even if The Husband tips poorly—which I don’t think he would do—the waiter will say, “Well, at least his wife was nice. She told him to tip well.”
MOV
("Money Or Vexation?")
Sunday, November 14, 2010
208. Why I Hate Ads
Okay, I admit, I don’t really hate ads. Hate is a very strong word. In fact, just the other day as I was drinking my (Starbucks) latte and reading my latest (House Beautiful) magazine while I was lounging in my comfy leather chair (from Pottery Barn), I was thinking how much I actually enjoy those very clever commercials I see on TV (Sony, purchased at Best Buy) when they air during the Super Bowl. I am not even a huge hockey fan (baseball? lacrosse? remind me which sport they play for Super Bowl) but when The Husband is watching the Super Bowl, I admit that I watch it too, but primarily for the entertaining and funny advertisements (such as the highly effective commercial with the squirrels running in Pamplona, like the running of the bulls, but instead of bulls it was squirrels! get it? they were selling, uh, uh..... maybe they were selling squirrels?).
Ads do serve their purpose. They hopefully get you to go to the place (for a random example, perhaps a high-end kitchen store) and spend your hard-earned dollars buying something you may or may not need (like a salad spinner or a $2500 espresso machine). I totally get this.
What I don’t get is WHY when I want to be on the computer and read someone’s blog, then SHEBANG! this stupid ad pops up. Why can’t I just read the funny thing (or research what type of red-leafed tree is in my backyard or learn how to make origami paper airplanes—my 6-year-old’s latest obsession) without being visually assaulted by unwanted ads? The ad is never something helpful, like how to care for red-leafed trees that might be growing in your yard or where to buy cheap books that show origami step-by-step; no. The ad is inevitably do you want to know your Credit Score (not really; I prefer to run and hide from my Credit Score……… why? does my Credit Score want to know me? did it, you know, call and ask if I was available to get together or if I thought it was cute?). Or, the ad might be: buy this really expensive car right now! (Hey, Marketing Genius? If I had the money to buy that really expensive car, do you think I would be here looking at Craig’s List for a new coffee table?).
The bottom line is: advertisements don’t work on me. Like that time the other day when Shutterbug popped up and offered $10 off plus free shipping. Who cares? (Although, I truly did need to place an order for Christmas cards, but I, like, was totally planning to do that anyway.)
Okay, that one doesn’t count.
As I was saying, I am not just one of these nameless little sheep that just do whatever the advertisers tell him/her (it?) to do. I don’t need new business cards (Got Ink), thankyouverymuch. Uh, actually, their business cards do look super cute. And wow, 2 day shipping, that’s impressive. 33 cents per card, do they even break even on that? it would be kind of criminal not to order the cards, I mean, they are practically paying me.
So, my message to all you advertisers out there is: please leave me and my poor antique computer alone. I abhor your ads, especially the crazy ones that move around the page and follow me. Makes me a little nervous and uncomfortable. If I want someone to follow me, I’ll just tell my 4-year-old that I might share my M&M’s with him.
And now if you’ll excuse me, I have some really expensive cars I need to go look at.
MOV
PS--What I forgot to say, which I meant to is: I will never sell out. You will never see ads here in my blog, even if it happens to be a favorite product of mine. I Absolut -ly will not do ads! There is no Gap between my integrity/morals and the way I live my life. I think it's safe to say we are all United on that front. So, go enjoy some (Baskin-Robbins) ice cream and kick back and read my ad-free blog.
Ads do serve their purpose. They hopefully get you to go to the place (for a random example, perhaps a high-end kitchen store) and spend your hard-earned dollars buying something you may or may not need (like a salad spinner or a $2500 espresso machine). I totally get this.
What I don’t get is WHY when I want to be on the computer and read someone’s blog, then SHEBANG! this stupid ad pops up. Why can’t I just read the funny thing (or research what type of red-leafed tree is in my backyard or learn how to make origami paper airplanes—my 6-year-old’s latest obsession) without being visually assaulted by unwanted ads? The ad is never something helpful, like how to care for red-leafed trees that might be growing in your yard or where to buy cheap books that show origami step-by-step; no. The ad is inevitably do you want to know your Credit Score (not really; I prefer to run and hide from my Credit Score……… why? does my Credit Score want to know me? did it, you know, call and ask if I was available to get together or if I thought it was cute?). Or, the ad might be: buy this really expensive car right now! (Hey, Marketing Genius? If I had the money to buy that really expensive car, do you think I would be here looking at Craig’s List for a new coffee table?).
The bottom line is: advertisements don’t work on me. Like that time the other day when Shutterbug popped up and offered $10 off plus free shipping. Who cares? (Although, I truly did need to place an order for Christmas cards, but I, like, was totally planning to do that anyway.)
Okay, that one doesn’t count.
As I was saying, I am not just one of these nameless little sheep that just do whatever the advertisers tell him/her (it?) to do. I don’t need new business cards (Got Ink), thankyouverymuch. Uh, actually, their business cards do look super cute. And wow, 2 day shipping, that’s impressive. 33 cents per card, do they even break even on that? it would be kind of criminal not to order the cards, I mean, they are practically paying me.
So, my message to all you advertisers out there is: please leave me and my poor antique computer alone. I abhor your ads, especially the crazy ones that move around the page and follow me. Makes me a little nervous and uncomfortable. If I want someone to follow me, I’ll just tell my 4-year-old that I might share my M&M’s with him.
And now if you’ll excuse me, I have some really expensive cars I need to go look at.
MOV
PS--What I forgot to say, which I meant to is: I will never sell out. You will never see ads here in my blog, even if it happens to be a favorite product of mine. I Absolut -ly will not do ads! There is no Gap between my integrity/morals and the way I live my life. I think it's safe to say we are all United on that front. So, go enjoy some (Baskin-Robbins) ice cream and kick back and read my ad-free blog.
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