A lot of my time, I try; I try real hard to be mindful. Mindful to not allow frustration get the better of my heart and my mind. To passive/aggressively move on from a situation that I can’t control, and accept its inconsequential impact to my spirit.

BUT THEN THERE WAS YESTERDAY AT KROGER.

This tale begins a few days earlier, when I mistakenly picked up a gigundo 28 oz. bag of pre-ground coffee (on sale for $18.99! with your Kroger “club” card), while shopping for a few other items. I’m not too keen on Kroger, but they have a Starbucks counter in the store and the most competitive prices on their products. I was mistaken because I don’t use pre-ground coffee. I’m a snob. I prepare my Joe using the French Press method. ICYDK, French Press uses a coarsely ground coffee instead of the more common medium-coarse ground (for the ubiquitous automatic drip machines). It’s a mistake to use MCG in a French Press, mostly because a French Press filter will typically allow many of those little coffee tidbits to sift right through. Not a pleasant experience while drinking, I assure you. Actually kind of nasty.

Ha! Nasty segues into the crux of this story. So I buy the coffee, and I also go to the Starbucks stand to get a cup of coffee. I was out at home (hence the trip) and it was noon-ish, and I wuz Jonesin’. I was Jonesing so bad that when they were out of stock of whole bean coffee, I reasoned with myself that I was being too snobbish about getting my beans freshly ground at the Starbucks stand and I could live for one small period in my life with pre-ground coffee; totally forgetting that I buy whole bean because I need it ground coarsely. I got my coffee, went home, and put away my grocery purchases. All good, buzzing delightfully over my 20 bold and robust ounces of Pike Place, gliding down my throat.

At 5:45am the next day, I awoke directly from a dream, where I had realized, “you can’t use ground coffee, it has to be coarse-ground for the French Press!” So my first real distraction from what was to become my day was that I had to go back to the store to exchange my bag o’coffee. I did my morning tasks, feeding the dogs, cleaning up after, and by 7:15 I was off I went to Kroger. I walked in the door around 7:30, and went to the Customer Service desk. There was a lady there, doing whatever opening tasks she was doing. Her name was Rebecca. Rebecca told me the Customer Service desk did not open until 8 am. I was very disappointed to hear that, and no doubt my face showed that and my frustration. I asked, “so I can’t return this item until 8?” She responded by telling once more that the Customer Service desk didn’t open until 8 am, and that I would have to wait 30 minutes.

I was frustrated, I was angered; but I was mindful, and I reminded myself that Rebecca doesn’t make the rules or policies, she just works there, it’s all above her pay-grade, so she’s not the one to complain to, and definitely not the one to direct my anger and frustration upon. After that little moment of epiphany and victory over my enate emotion, I realized I still needed to replace my bag with whole bean coffee AND, there was an open Starbucks in sight where I could get immediate gratification for my coffee craving. I moved on to Aisle whatever, with the hope that maybe overnight, Kroger would have restocked the whole bean coffee on their shelves.

Well that was a stretch. They did not restock my coffee, but they had smaller 12 oz. bags of whole bean, so I grabbed one off the shelf, went through the self-service kiosk to pay; and while doing that I also got $10 cash back (so I could leave a tip at the Starbucks stand in appreciation of their coarsely grinding my coffee). F’n Kroger, they charge you 75¢ for cash back. Normally, that should be insignificant to me, but I’m already dandered up over the whole “you have to wait 30 minutes” ordeal, ya dig?

Next stop, Starbucks stand, for a Vente Pike Place coffee (no room for sugar or cream, thank you), and please grind my coffee. Rachel was happy to oblige. She’s my favorite there, because she’s gotta be 6 ft tall, she literally stands out above the rest; but that’s not why. It’s because the first time I “noticed” Rachel, she was underneath the counter where the mini-coolers are, cleaning up and wiping down the machinery. All while her much shorter co-workers were standing around, just waiting for someone to need their cream frothed or their mocha sprinkled. I remember thinking that while it’s true, everybody has to do what’s required to keep the Starbucks stand clean, it just knocked on my head that the largest person working there was chosen to crawl under the countertop to clean. Was that a one-off? Nope. In months that followed, I noticed that Rachel was always the one unloading the pallet of supplies; restocking the coffee & merchandise out in front of the stand; doing just about anything and everything to make that stand operational. She never expresses disdain or resentment that she is “the chosen”. She just does it. And she always seems to have a smile for me or any other customer, as well for her co-workers. She’s a rare gem. But I digress.

So I get my Vente, I get my coarsely ground coffee, and have a sit in their little 4-table area, and wait for 15 minutes until it’s 8 am. At 8, I gather my goods, and head up to the counter. Nobody’s there at first, and I’m just looking around. Soon, though, Rebecca comes about, approaches me, and asks, “May I help you with something?” 

SNARK ALERT!! I was somewhat taken aback by the question. I can’t believe she doesn’t remember our encounter just 30 minutes earlier, but we move on. So again, I presented my coffee, asking for a refund, since there were no 28 oz bags of whole bean on the shelf. Rebecca then asks me, “Was there something wrong with the product?” Now I’m really starting to feel that this chick is definitely trying to diss me. I explained there was nothing wrong with the product, I purchased the wrong product. She asked if I want to refund to my card or in cash, and since I just got cash, I told her to the card, please. She starts scanning and keying info into her work station, and while she’s doing this, she asks, “So, how’s your day going so far?” So now I’m sure she’s fucking with me. I told her not as well as I would’ve hoped.

A couple more beeps and bops from her work station, and she tells me the refund has been processed back to my card. I thank her, gather my stuff, and she tells me she hopes the rest of my day is great. But you know, I can’t prove it, but the way she said it sounded insincere. Of course, I was already feeling defensive about it all, so I could have been biased.