Starbucks Winter Hibernation.

I read quite a few blogs and the one thing that has always ticked me off a little is when the blogger leaves a 3 week gap between posts. I promised myself I would never do that....FAIL! So I apologize to the hundreds of people reading my blog and I will never do it again....I hope.

Hibernate like a bear.
          Anyways, part of the reason I haven't posted in so long is because of my abnormal amount of prolonged sleep. A few weeks after moving back home, my automobile decided to crap out on me, leaving me stranded to share my grandma's old 1987 Grand Marquis (which gets about 12 mpg) with my parents, who both have jobs. I guess part of the reason I moved back home in the first place is so that I can afford a new vehicle, so I'm lucky it happened now than at my old apartment. But since I am without a car, I have lost motivation to do just about anything and everything. So sleep has been my friend lately, for the most part. Not only do I blame my dead car, but I also blame daylight-savings time because it gets dark at 6pm and is nothing but depressing. I just want to thank God for a new car that I am soon to purchase and amazing friends who are always willing to pick me up when I am stuck at home.

"This doesn't taste like my drink"--"Is your name Bob?"--"No."--"Well that's why."
          Please do not be this type of customer. I'm just saying, I will look down at you if you do this to me. I guarantee this is on every barista's list of "Top Ten Most Annoying Customer Habits" and believe me, you do NOT want to be on this list.

So when you walk into Starbucks, you get in line and place your order at the register. Now any barista with an IQ of 32 will know that they need to mark your cup and label what drink it is, and preferredly put your name on the cup...then the person on bar makes the drink to standard and calls the drink out (and name, if labeled) to the person, NICE AND LOUD. And depending on how "rockstar" the bar person is, they can get many drinks out pretty quickly with the help of fellow baristas.======Now, as a customer, DO NOT go to the handoff counter and grab whatever cup you think is yours and just start drinking it before you actually know that it is, in fact, your drink. I am asking you to please please check for your name and please ask a barista for help in finding your drink. So many customers come up to the counter, see a drink, and automatically assume that the drink is theirs. I don't mind that you think your drink was magically hand-crafted from the time you walked from the register to the hand-off counter in 3.7 seconds, but just double check. It is far less irritating to check a drink for you than to remake a drink because you decided to drink out of someone else's cup.

OH! and as sad and gross as it sounds, I have had many-a-customer drink out of someone else's drink, realize their mistake, and then have the audacity to tell me, "I barely drank out of their cup, you don't need to remake their drink, they won't ever know"....excuse me? How do I know that you don't have mad-cow disease, swine flu or some other creepy disease?

Dear Mother Nature, keep the snow to yourself!

          I have spoken before about my bi-polar customers, but today they are not an issue. This morning I woke up to the blinding sight of white. No, not my white ceiling, but the disgusting brightness of ....wait for it.....SNOW. And guess what tomorrows forecast calls for....60's and sunny. I guess that's what happens when your parents decide to breed in this place called South Bend, Indiana. It really isn't a bad place, especially if you like to enjoy all 4 seasons. But weeks like this make me want to swallow a bottle of Zoloft. One day, nice and sunny but cool--next day, nice and sunny, but warm--next day, SNOW. Now those bi-polar customers don't sound so bad.

          The snow only reminds me that the time is coming when I have to be shut in this house ALL THE DAMN TIME. I might die a little. I was really spoiled to be given 8 months of quietness away from my family. It was amazing. But now that I am back, for the most part, stress in terms of money is minimal. The fact that I don't have to worry about stretching a paycheck to last one entire month is a blessing....but it IS possible, and now I know that I can make money last. Sometimes I think I would trade $500 a month for it to be quiet again, but that's what you call 'family'. At almost any given time, you will find my mom, dad, Erika, Elisa, Samantha, Tyler, Seviryn, Aiyana, and Maile...along with a dog, 2 cats and 7 kittens in my house at once....oh and me. That is a crap load of talking, screaming creatures walking in a 2,000 square foot house! Erika and her 3 kids don't even live there! (hint hint..hahahaha) Just pointing that out because earlier today, without realizing it, I insulted my sister when I asked her when she was leaving with her kids...oh well sorry Erika. I love my family, I love my family.

          Now that my little frustrated lapse is over, I'm going to discuss a few awesome parts of a Starbucks winter. For one, it means far less frappuccinos, which for many many baristas means joy! I don't know why, but I would rather make a hot beverage over a frappuccino, hands down anytime....especially in a rush. Anything that requires you to walk away from the hot beverage bar towards the frappuccino bar is just an inconvenience. When I use to work the night shift (and no I'm not talking about a street corner job), my favorite parts were when people would come in to my Starbucks, and be filled with this cheer, a cheer that let everyone know that they loved life. And it was amazing to see people and their friends or family come in, order their favorite holiday drink (peppermint mocha, eggnog latte) and sit down and enjoy the night. It made me appreciate and further love my job. And if you want to really make us baristas happy...clean up after yourselves and put the chairs back to the appropriate tables. It makes our jobs easier and makes us like you more. Hey, maybe we'll take our sample tray to your table first so you can take the larger pieces of cranberry bliss bar :)

Today's words of advice: Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.

Happy Starbucks Hallo-thanks-mas everybody!

It's that time of year again...for Starbucks.

Yes, Halloween was just 2 days ago, and it was AWESOME! But I will talk more about that in a second.

            For any seasoned barista, and that means any barista who has survived the last holiday season beginning around Halloween, we begin to mentally prepare ourselves for the bi-polar lashing of our customers. For many of our customers, the only time you see the whites of their teeth are right before Thanksgiving, and sometimes that can mean MORE tips, but other times, that means they are only showing their grinch-like smiles. Don't get me wrong, the Fall-through-Christmas season is most definitely my favorite, but at the Bux it's all over the place.

    It means rollouts, pumpkin spice lattes, red Christmas cups, peppermint mochas, eggnog lattes, gingerbread lattes, cranberry-bliss bars, store decorations, red aprons, and joy joy joy joy joy. But when it comes to the cleaning, it means snow...and snow only means dirty, nasty, street-salt water stained floors that need to be mopped more than once a day. AHHHHH!!! OK, I'll live.

            But anyways, Halloween was tight. After 3 years, we were allowed to dress up in our costumes at work again. So that alone made my day. Since Halloween was on a Sunday, and I open every Sunday, I knew it was going to be a quick morning. Obviously, most of our customers either work or go to school on Monday, and that meant they got all their partying and drunkenness done the night before my open....so it was an easy, slow morning. I showed up to work wearing a lot of random clothing and huge glasses, while my fellow barista showed up in her pajamas. The best part of the day, besides for getting to eat candy at 5AM, was getting to make almost every customer including the grumpy ones crack a smile. We looked ridiculous! Sometimes wearing a uniform is uncomfortable, so my first choice was comfort.....hence the picture below.

Also, I highly recommend enjoying a nice Pumpkin Spice Latte on Halloween, it definitely helps capture the whole Fall season....if you don't like them then we can't be friends anymore.

          Outside of Starbucks, this was only my second year of not going trick-or-treating. Yeah yeah, I know. It's still a little sad to think about the fact that I am now passed the age of having to care about anything but how much candy I will get, but also amazing to see my little nieces and nephew grow up. My parents moved into our most recent home only 3 months after I was born, so just over 20 years ago. There are 250 houses in my neighborhood, so 10-13 years ago...Halloween was INSANE. Almost every single house handed out candy and the child population was ridiculous. Back when I was 10 years old, kids were everywhere! We would get so much candy we could barely carry our pillow cases anymore. And back in the day, most of the kids made their own costumes, nowadays, they buy all these slutty nasty costumes and come home with a fourth of what we got. It's still hilarious though. Below is a picture of my little niece Aiyana dressed in her store bought princess costume. You can probably tell where she gets her good looks from. Oh yeah, it was about 45 degrees outside....she was not happy.

            Now when it comes to Thanksgiving at Starbucks, the only notable thing to mention is the Thanksgiving Blend Coffee. And it's actually not bad stuff. Also, the pumpkin spice continues for awhile after this. Thanksgiving  means a holiday with a time and 1/2 pay rate which is nice for people who work that day, but I tend to not work it because I have personally cooked every holiday meal since I was 13....and I'm not giving up anytime soon. I might actually get to work the opening shift and get off early enough to give me time to cook, but that is all up to my awesome manager.

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I was going to write about that Starbucks hell called Christmas, but it hurts too much to talk about right now....give me a day or two.

Seacrest out!

it's a beautiful world.

To Write Love On Her Arms

 This is a post about To Write Love on Her Arms...

To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.


This is their story..


Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."

I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.

Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.

She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm.

The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.

She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.

I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes

more Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.

She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies.

On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.

Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.

After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.

She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.

As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."

I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.

We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.

We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.
 
I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.
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To learn more, go to TWLOHA.COM

BULLY.rape.BULLY.murder.BULLY.thief.TAKE ACTION

The title runs pretty smoothly.

    "Good management and bullying have as much in common as great sex and rape."
Sadly, as vulger as this sounds, it is beyond the truth. Bullying needs to stop.

The fact that I am still alive today, while the rest of those kids who have committed suicide, is a miracle. Like physical strength, there is only so much emotional abuse someone can deal with before the weight comes crashing down (or at least what they thought was all their options) before taking their own lives seems easier. But this should never be an option for anyone. It is quite upsetting to think about, but sometimes the only reason I was never pushed over the edge was because I've experienced the pain of the suicides of fellow classmates, teachers, family members and friends. And recently after seeing all the pain, it made me realize how much I was bullied as a child and as a teen, and honestly to this day, bullyied in the workplace.

          I was first bullied in the third grade when my body was in the process of changing and so I got a little chunky, but really, who doesn't? It never bothered me until a kid in my class, who I still see from time to time, would bully me over almost anything, but especially because I was a little chunky. I went to that grade school for 7 years, and for 4 of those years, I went through hell. Either I was made fun of for being chunky, not having cool enough gym shoes, my school shorts being too long or too short, the cars my parents drove, or the gaps in my teeth....it all conflicted some sort of pain on me that stayed with me to this day. I know this sounds weird, but when I got to the 5th or 6th grade, I had pretty much given up all hope on having guy friends, because honestly, they were mean bullies. I was recently talking with one of my friends and was discussing why I usually get along better with girls, and the fact that I was bullied by the boys was brought up. I didn't dare sign up for the boys basketball team in 5th grade because the bully always managed to find something to make fun of me over. And growing up, girls were the ones who always reassured me that I was nothing the bully described me as. Girls were always dramatic, but they were nicer.

BULLIES SHOULD NOT BE TOLERATED!
To this day, I still work with bullies. How these people were hired and still continue to have a job and get paid, completely blows my mind. A bully should be treated the same as a murderer, the only difference between the two is that the one who is bullied isn't dead, yet. I thank God that laws are being changed and bullying is being taken more seriously, but it all came at a price of its last victims.

          Being an original is one of the greatest gifts of life, and I wish more people would take advantage of it. The very same thing that is our life and everything about us is so easily ridiculed and so easily taken away from us. Unfortunately, many employers and employees do not take action to stop bullying when they see it. There are three groups created by bullying; it involves the victim, the bystander, and the bully himself. At different moments in my life, I have played the victim and then sometimes the bystander. It sucks.

Bullying is not just a tragedy, it's a crisis.

An Important Message - From Ellen DeGeneres (Gay Suicide)

ABC News: Bullying story

Espresso Temper Tantrum

Now really, you can seriously taste that it is not decaf? LIAR!
Yes, you read it..I have actually had to deal with people who claim that they can taste the difference between decaf and regular strength espresso. I bet you a million dollars that Howard himself cannot taste the difference...so what makes you think that you have that supernatural power? Hold on while I go grab your prize.

We have many, MANY awesome customers who make us smile everyday, even when we're in the middle of a rush. Sometimes they are the only things that get us through the day. We appreciate you.

Now it comes time to tell you about the all-knowing coffee gods who claim to know Starbucks like the back of their hand. These are the types that make up their own bogus prices and expect you to follow through...but I "Just Say Yes" to things in moderation.

So I had a lady come in a few weeks ago at around 5:30AM and ask for a Grande 2-pump Soy White Mocha. Before she pulled away from the drive-thru speaker box, she stated that I'm just suppose to charge her for a Grande Latte. Obviously this did not pass by me without a fight because even though we "just say yes", there is a fine line between helping out and breaking rules. I'm not a Nazi but I still follow obvious rules. I mentioned it to my manager at the time and they told me to give it to her this time, but let her know that next time, we have to charge her the correct way. So I was OK with that. I went on to make her drink and then brough it to the register where I opened the window and greeted her with a "warm" smile. I asked her how she was doing and then went on to break the news to her. I let her know that today, I would give her her $1+ rip off beverage but would have to charge her the correct way next time. Next is what makes me want to punch her in the face. She rolled her eyes like an 8 year old girl and informed me that EVERY other Starbucks charges her for just a latte and that my store is stupid because we don't know how to do our jobs. So, she insults me and my fellow baristas and does it with a snotty attitude. Let me remind you, the lady is a 40-something year old mother. At this point, I am holding myself back from slamming the window on her, but I nicely explained that we have rules to follow. She asks me "Are you a consumer? Like do you actually spend money here?", and I happily replied "Actually YES, I spend ALOT of money here"...exaggerating just a little. She asked me if I was getting a drink with only half the amount of pumps, would I expect Starbucks to charge me for the menu price. I gladly and truthfully told her yes, I would expect them to charge me the correct amount. This made her very upset. So I did all this while ringing her up for her rip-off drink, I cashed her out and she pulled off. A few minutes later, dissappointed that I had to give in to her bitchiness, I thought to myself, "CRAP! Did I at least charge her for the soy milk?". So I ran to the register, printed off her receipt, and to my disbelief, not only did I charge her for soy milk, BUT I also charged her for the correct amount....honestly not realizing it. I let my manager know that a lady might be calling in to complain about me because I followed the rules instead of giving in to her needs and wants.

To make a long story short, I did not feel bad AT ALL for accidentally charging her the correct amount. Sorry lady, please wake up on the non-bitchy side of the bed next time.


Bad news for people who try to rip us off....Starbucks has now converted computer systems that are super smart and automatically charge the correct prices. Can't beat that!

Saying goodbye (to my apartment) is so difficult.

My title pretty much says it all.

I have lived in my apartment for over 8 months now, and quite frankly, it has been the greatest and fastest 8 months of my life. When I decided to move out of my parents house, I never had so much motivation to do something before...sadly that motivation didn't arrive til AFTER Trinity :( But even though I was now living on my own, and at times money was really tight, I never felt more peaceful. When I left the big sky-blue house with black shutters and a pink trim, there were two parents, only five of the eight other siblings, a neice, a nephew, a dog and two cats. THAT'S 13 LIVING THINGS! Let's just say when it came to privacy....you had none. So I had saved up money for awhile and was now able to afford my own place. It was also very convenient because my new apartment was just a 2-minute drive to work (as opposed to a 22-minute drive) and school was within a 5-minute drive. So the location was perfect! I was 19 at the time, so for my family to have a child move out at such an early age was nearly unheard of.

Over the last 8 months many people have asked me why I would want to spend $500 a month on something that I could actually get for free if I lived with my parents. For the most part, the answer is simple...I can buy ice cream, eat a little of it, and expect the rest of it to be sitting in my fridge when I get home....And it's not just ice cream, it alot of stuff. I tend to be a little OCD when it comes to my stuff. Growing up with 8 other siblings, memorizing the placement of EVERYTHING in my room just came second nature to me. I knew where everything was placed, how it was placed, what the corner of it was pointing towards, the dust (if any) on it, the money in my coin jar, and how tight the cap was on my bottle of pop. So in other words, if you were in my room, I knew you were before you did.
               Another thing I have really come to cherish is the sound of nothing. I know it sounds stupid but now I understand why my mom would rather stay home by herself, with the kids GONE, than go to Hawaii. There was rarely a point in my house that not at least one person was home...at all times. The only complaints I could ever have about my apartment were the fact that the old lady 2 floors beneath me always talked REALLY loud, or that the retardedly loud geese thought it would be a fantastic idea to make their littles walks, eating crap off the ground....right below my bedroom window at 8 o'clock in the morning. Or I guess for about the first week after I moved in, which happened to be in the beginning of February, I couldn't take a shower or turn on the heat without the smoke detector going off. And to this day, I am still confused as to why that happened.

DON'T BE SUCH A BABY!
          My friends and I were having a conversation on the patio of my Starbucks, and there were many of these awesome Starbucks patio nights which I will most likely end up discussing at some point, and one of them jokingly asked me if I ever cried after I moved out (I don't know how that came up, but it did), but yes, I did. On February 1st, after my friend and I packed up their van with all my crap, they headed off to my apartment. Then I said goodbye to my parents, who would only be 20 minutes away, then got into my car. I sat for a second and just looked at my house. Most people, by the way, move many times during their childhood. My family, on the other hand, had moved into my house when I was only 3 months old....So I had lived their my entire life. Then I just started to cry. This cry was no ordinary cry. It was probably the most Bi-Polar cry I've ever experienced. It was filled with much "YES, I'M GONE!".......a little "AWW, THIS IS SAD"........some "I'M GONNA MISS MY MOM!"......and alot of "SHIIIIT! NOW I GOTTA PAY FOR EVERYTHING!". It lasted for about 5 minutes, then I did one of those quick glances where I check to see that nobody just witnessed that horrificly ugly cry. I then pulled down my car mirror, wiped away my tears, said a little prayer, and I was outta there!

The Return of the Jedi
          Now my dad always told me for many weeks after I gathered up enough guts to break the news that his favorite offspring was moving out.....he would say "Now don't go buy a bunch of crap because when you DO move back home, we won't have the space for all your shit." You know, the motivation that just moves your very core. OK, it wasn't that bad and it wasn't said in those very same words, but you get the gist of it. He was actually quite supportive of my move. But I always reassured him that I wasn't coming back....and I honestly had no intention of returning.
          Parents do know best! I am, in fact, moving back home 6 days from today. I am dreading it. I love my family very much, but the thought of moving back home just kills me. Since I have left, my sister and her children have moved out. My older brother moved out. My two female cats both turned into little hoes and were played by the same male pimp-cat, so together they have produced a total of 9 kittens, which are very cute.
                           Now the ONLY reason I am moving back home is because of the money. Not because I can't afford my awesome apartment, but because God has other things in store for me.....possibly in California (I will discuss the Cali stuff later). My apartment has been the source of so many memories with many awesome friends, its been the source of peace and security, and this 8-month apartment is also proof that God loves me. Because the school in California is such a drastic, incredible option for me, I have to at least be able to have the option of going, and living in an apartment does not give me that option. So I am moving back home, saving all the money that I would normally use for my rent. This is the best thing for me and will open up many doors to my future.



To sum up everything in this post: GOD IS GREAT! He gave me an incredible 8 months to grow as a person, in a quiet place. Now He has thrown an even more incredible opportunity at me....but to get to it, I have to move back in to the craziness, called home. Now to end this post....GOD IS da BOMB!

Life After Adam: The Effect of a Suicide

During my senior year of high school, 2 years ago, my class was asked to write about a specific situation that dramatically changed our lives. So I decided to write about the suicide of my best friends brother, Adam del Pilar. This event changed my life in many ways, as a junior in high school and as a best friend. I did not show anyone the paper until the 3rd anniversary of Adam's death and only my teacher and Adam's family have read it, so far. As per request from many people who have heard about the paper, I am posting it today also in remembrance of the recent suicides.


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          For anyone to have to deal with a death of a loved one can be the hardest obstacle to go through in life. Whether its a parent, a sibling, a best friend, or another family's loved one, for someone to go through a phase in their life that is filled with grieving people is not so easy. When this happens in the middle of high school, it can be even more challenging. On August 24th 2007, only two days after I entered into my junior year of high school, at an instant, I had to step up as a best friend and immediately learn how to manage being there for someone whose life had drastically changed forever. This wasn't just an accidental death, or even an honorable one; it was a suicide. I mean, how can anyone deal with the fact that their own brother was so sick and depressed, that he chose to end his own life? What was I suppose to do? How was I suppose to act? Or even more importantly, what was I suppose to say to her? On August 24^th, my life had changed forever.

          It was a Friday afternoon, the day had so far been pretty awesome. Homework was light, cause we were only a few days into the school year, and the weather wasn't too bad either. Like usual, my sister and I arrived home from school at about 3:30pm. I was excited cause I finally got to rest. As I walked inside my house, I immediately heard the phone ring. I looked at the caller I.D. and noticed it was the del Pilars number. So like usual, I answered and said “Hey, whats up?”. What I heard next wasn't what I expected, but at the same time, I wasn't surprised. This definitely was not the first time Stephanie called me while crying. I mean, what can I say, she's a girl and they tend to do that a lot. I asked her what was wrong, but all I continued to hear was her crying. After an awkward ten seconds or so, she replied, “My brother died...he killed himself.” Right away, believing it to be a joke, I said “Haha, that's not funny!”, but she still continued to cry. Right then and there, I felt my heart sink. I got the feeling you get when you get butterflies in your stomach, but it wasn't the good feeling. I was completely speechless and scared. I didn't know what to say. I just stood there for a while, clueless to what I should do. “Sorry” just didn't seem like the right thing to say. So I just told her I was coming over right away. The phone call lasted no more than forty-five seconds. After I got off the phone, I told my mom what had happened, myself not too sure. I told her I was going straight over and needed to use her van, since I didn't have enough time to stop and put gas in my car. As I got the keys and started the van, my moms radio was set to Sunny 101.5 and the song “The Arms of an Angel” was just finishing. I got goose-bumps. As I was pulling out of my neighborhood, P. Diddy's version of “I'll Be Missing You” came on. And yes, that was about the death of a loved one. I couldn't stand it so I hit off the radio. I almost began crying right there. All I could think about is what exactly I should do when I get there, what I should say, and I told myself that I wouldn't cry in front of them. So many things were going through my head at that very time, so all I could do was ask God to help me with this. I knew there was a lot on my plate and I couldn't handle it alone. After a few minutes, I couldn't stand driving with it so quiet in the car, so I turned the radio back on. Right away, the song “Lean On Me” came on. And as corny as it was, for the song about how to be a friend to someone who has been struggling, it couldn't have helped any better.

          As I pulled up to the del Pilars house, the girls were outside on their porch crying. I kept telling myself, “OK Ben, hold it together.” But as soon as I walked up the steps to where they were standing, before I reached Stephanie, everything just came out. No one could hold in the pain. Was it selfish of me to be pissed off and sad at the same time. I felt bad for she and her family, but I couldn't help but also be angry at Adam for what he had put them through. Though I had only met him a few times before that day, I felt like I had known him forever. The anger and sadness he had put my best friend in as they grew up together had passed on to me. When I would see him, at what I also called home, I couldn't help but resent him a little. But after I got over the fact that it wasn't Adam's fault, I realized that depression is a sickness. He had struggled with it almost his entire life. Though I grieved over his death, I ultimately felt even worse for the family he left behind. After his parents found out about his suicide, their immediate reaction was guilt. They blamed themselves for everything. They did everything they could do for him, yet they still thought there was more they should have done. They believed it was their fault after they kicked him out of the house for his drug abuse and other negative ways of life. After about a half an hour, all of us came inside. As I walked in the front door, I saw Dr. del Pilar sitting in a chair across the room from me. He had a blank gray face. He just sat there for hours in total shock. Nothing going on in his head except the realization of his son's death. He was completely still. Once Mrs. del Pilar saw me come inside, she came straight up and hugged me, with her make-up smeared across her face. She thanked me for being there for the family, but most importantly, for Stephanie. She knew Stephanie never opened up to many people beside myself. Though Mrs. del Pilar was not Adam's biological mother, she treated him as her own. It was as hard for her as it was for anyone close to him. The next few days were hell for them. Because Adam took his life away in Georgia, where his real mother lives, they had to make arrangements to get him here to be buried. I had gone with Stephanie to the funeral home a few days before the funeral to bring things to her father, who was there preparing for a day he should never have to see, and he was still grieving over his son. As I walked in the room, I saw Adam lying there. There wasn't any life left in him.

          Not long after seeing Adam for the first time since his death, it was time for the funeral. When I walked into the church, Alex runs up and hugs me. Then I look over and see Mr and Mrs del Pilar. I immediately go and speak with them before I continue to my seat. The entire church was packed, people were even standing on the sides because of the lack of space in the huge room. There must have been four hundred people there. Once Alex gets up to speak in front of the people, everyone begins balling after she talks about Adam as a child and what he was like as a big brother to her. Dr del Pilar also gets up to speak, and I could see guilt in his eyes and hear it in his voice. He spoke of his son the way every father should. Instead of speaking for himself, he spoke for others. He didn't try to make people feel bad for he or his family, he only tried to tell them what not to do. He told parents to let their children dream, and support their dreams. He came to the realization that his son's dreams weren't Adam's, but his own. He encouraged parents to love their children for who they are, and not for what they should become.

          After the funeral mass, the casket was carried outside and was taken to the cemetery as all the people followed. I knew that this would be the most difficult step for the family. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the air was warm. It wasn't anything like I had imagined a burial would look like. As everyone walked towards the spot where Adam would be lowered in to, you could feel the pain and sadness. I stood a few feet away from the family as they stood by the casket. Mrs del Pilar had been so strong until Adam was being lowered. It was now time for her to let out her pain. The moment the casket lowered, she began to fall. She fell on her knees and began to scream and cry. It almost appeared as if she was fighting to bring him back. Everyone stood around with tears in their eyes as they listened to her flow of pain. Like she had been so strong for her children and husband, now they had to be strong for her. I knew that the next year would be the hardest for them; and it was. From the day Adam died, I told Stephanie the truth. I told her that this would be the most difficult time of her life, but she had to continue staying strong. She was not a child and she didn't want to be lied to as if she was one. I told her that it would most likely get worse for awhile before it got better, but I continued to reassure her that it would get better. I also had to tell myself the same thing. I had to tell myself everything would get better, I would just have to think positively. Giving advice is easy, but when a situation like this happened, I got scared. I had to believe in myself and trust that I could help her.

          It has been almost a year and a half since Adam's death. Stephanie and her family have all opened up more than ever. They have become better people to themselves and others. People always ask why God has to put such horrible burdens on great people; I use to ask the same thing, but I realized that He does this because great people inspire great things. Those people who were created with such attractive personalities attract more people. Like with the del Pilars, they had something happen to them that eventually brought themselves and others closer together and more importantly, closer to God. When people ask God for things, He gives it to them in ways they don't expect.

“Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience, or does He give them the opportunity to be patient? If they prayed for courage, does God give them courage, or does He give them opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does He give them opportunities to love each other?”

Starbucks: the DOs and DON'Ts

Now for those customers who are addicted to caffeine (and there are alot of those), decaf shots of espresso sure do come in handy. I understand that people have bad days, emotional days, and just sucky days in general, BUT that is no excuse to come inside my Starbucks and give me or any other fellow barista the stink eye because you just found out that your Louis Vuitton purse is, in fact, a knock-off. I understand you have the right to feel upset that you just lost a business deal or that the idiot behind you in traffic just gave your brand new car a love-tap with his vehicle, BUT (again) you cannot go and disrespect the barista who is making your Triple Venti, Hazelnut, Soy, No-Foam, Extra-hot, Stirred Latte. If you do that to me, and I am for the most part a very understanding and pretty patient person, I will accidentally *cough* hit the decaf button instead of the fully-caffeinated espresso shots----No Question!

               To make a long story short, be nice to us and we will (or at least I will) do everything I can to make a perfect drink and use my sarcasm to make you crack a smile before you exit my building.

KILL EM WITH KINDNESS!
       It really works! I used to work with a girl who was happy almost all the time. When we would get a customer who made us want to throw their scalding hot beverage in their face, she would always tell us, "Just kill them with kindness". At first, that would just piss me off even more that she wanted me to be nice to these jerks, but in the end when the jerks didn't fall over dead like I initially wanted, after I gave them a fake smile, they would eventually show up to my Starbucks a little nicer and a little more full of joy. It was AWESOME! Some customers just enjoy being angry and get some sort of ecstacy from making other people (including us angelic baristas) pissed off. But some people DO change.

            Then you get the rushes. Rushes at Starbucks can be more than a bottle of Tylenol can handle. And believe me, they are more stressful for a barista than they are for you. Sometimes they come out of no where and we are not prepared for the madness, especially when they include 5 trillion frappuccinos. This is where a little prayer comes in handy (when you have a second to think about it). You'll get the people who will huff and puff all while watching your every step with their drink, hoping that you'll put .000057 ounces too much of a syrup in the drink so that they force you to remake it because they're on a "no-sugar diet", but still want extra whip cream on top. So at this point, I've been holding the drink before handing it off to the grumpy customer, and I pray to myself and over the cup "God, if this doesn't give the person a little joy, please give them something that will.", and almost immediately, I've seen many grumpy customers "turn their frown upside down", and with the addition of some sarcastic humor, they walk away from the hand-off counter (AND SOMETIMES TO THE TIP JAR) with a huge smile on their faces. So either they suffer from some major Bi-Polar disorder, or God works in mysterious ways....I like to believe the latter.

Starbucks Drive-Thru Prank

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So it all begins..

I contemplated the idea of starting a blog about a year ago and finally got around to it. And it was all inspired by the one and only, Barista Brat (from baristabrat.blogspot.com). I really started to open up my mind and consider all the things I could possibly write about, and choosing only one topic really scared the crap out of me. So I thought to myself, "What the hell! Why not just blog about whatever I want, whenever I want!"

So here it begins..my past, my present, and my future spilt out on this page like a freshly made Caramel Frappuccino covering the inside of a grumpy customers car....FAIL! (on their part, but if you're being rude, I'm smiling a little inside)

So we'll start with MY LIKES:
          -God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit (doing my best to live for them)
          -winter, spring, summer, fall
          -friends
          -family
          -FOOD and more food
          -music (pretty much anything)
          -30 Rock, The Office, Friends, Fresh Prince, The Food Channel
          -the ladies...
          -Starbucks...since i work there, obviously. (PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES!)
          -photography (you'll be seeing alot of this hopefully)
          -youtube
          -facebook (you're all liars if you say you don't)
          -sarcasm
          -blasting obnoxious music in the car with friends
          -loving people and my Starbucks customers
          -and of course, your mom
And now we head to MY DISLIKES:
          -anyone who makes fun of the fact that I have started a blog
          -BULLIES
          -genuinely rude and angry people
          -car problems
          -people who take up 3 parking spaces because they think they have a nice car
          -McDonald's lame attempt at replicating a Starbucks Frappuccino
          -girls who tan to the point of looking orange (the oompa loompa look)
          -being cut off on the road
          -being stopped at a train track (unless it involves friends and a chinese firedrill)

This is a Pumpkin Spice Latte. Try it before it's too late!

         
So obviously this is just the beginning. My blog will hopefully come with more organization....hopefully. But who really knows. The stories, opinions and other shenanigans will all be here soon!

SEACREST OUT!