Cross Cultural Dialogue

When you think of a Starbucks, the kind of people one would imagine walking through the door would probably all seem to be cut from the same cloth. White. Rich. Spoiled. However, working as a barista there for 8 months this past year brought me to meet people from all different backgrounds and walks of life, coming together to share in the pastime of having a cup of coffee.

As a newer employee, I wasn’t yet trusted to make the drinks but was assigned tasks more along the lines of a cashier, taking orders and ringing up purchases. Most interactions went along smoothly with no hiccups other than the customer would forget to tell me something and then when their drink was incorrect, it was somehow always my fault. Funny how that works. Customers went in and out at their leisure, and as I was observing the ebb and flow of the store when another customer walked up to the counter.

“Hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can we get started for you today?” I asked him.

Instead of rattling off his drink order, he started to point and move his hands around, immediately disorienting me from my usual order taking routine. I turned and looked to where he was pointing and saw he was pointing to the coffee brewers behind my back.

“A brewed coffee?” I asked, he nodded quickly.

“Okay, what size would you like?”

He then reached for one of the grande sized cups in the container next to me and handed it to me.

I started to wonder what was going on, I had dealt with a lot of customers since starting to work here, but never a situation so strange.

“Okay, so a grande brewed coffee, sounds good, would you like any cream in the coffee?”

Instead of pointing or reaching for anything near me, he started to move his mouth, forming words slowly, but with no sound coming out.

At this point it hit me, the man was deaf and trying to communicate with me through simple hand gestures. I desperately tried to read his lips at this point, repeating back what I thought he was saying. After many failed attempts for me to read his lips, he made a writing motion with his hand and I offered him a pen. He took the pen and wrote on the palm of his opposite hand, ‘whole milk,’ referring to what he wanted in his coffee. Flustered and red from embarrassment, I filled his cup and brought over the container of milk, filling the cup slowly and looking up every few seconds to see if it was filled to his liking.

When he finally nodded in approval, I snapped the lid on his cup and he paid for his drink. At the end of the transaction he looked at me and moved his hand down from his chin saying ‘thank you’ in sign language and thanks to my fourth grade teacher, I was able to respond with ‘you’re welcome’ also in sign language.

The smile that broke out on this mans face made all the difference and made the confusing situation worth while to me as I was able to connect with him on one small thing that made his day and mine both a little brighter.