No, you're not alone. I am just a customer at Starbucks, and I too have weird, upsetting experiences. However, I go to three different Starbucks here in Seattle: the Roastery; the Bachelor Starbucks; and the Sorority Starbucks. Each one has a different set of mostly positive points, and some negative points.
Last March during Spring Break of the University of Washington -- when it is totally boring at the Bachelor Starbucks and the Sorority Starbucks -- I started going every weekday to the Roastery Starbucks, where it is always exciting, unpredictable and oftentimes totally amazing.
Take last Tuesday morning 23jun2015. Bus #41 got me from North Seattle down to the Roastery in nine minutes. I fetched the New York Times on a stick and went down by the Coffee Library to read the NYT. When I was done, a guy named Howard was sitting at the top of the stairs, and the barista said to me, "Good morning, Arthur. How are you today?"
My mind raced to come up with his name. "You're not so-and-so; you're First-Name, right?"
"Good, you got it on the second shot," he beamed. Howard then shot me a glance that seemed to say, "Who is this weirdo, learning the names of my employees?" But I went to the front of the Tasting Room and I traded in the New York Times for the Wall Street Journal. Then I stepped outside and took the #49 bus up Broadway to the Bachelor Starbucks, where I shared my first cup of Kofelani Blend with the Amiga Mole. He is even downer on his financial luck than I am, so I share bagels and My Starbucks Rewards (MSR) sandwiches with him. At his suggestion, we always eat the new chicken-and-artichoke sandwich, our favorite.
A few hours later, I walked up to the Sorority Starbucks, and a girl in shorts with the most beautiful legs I have ever seen stood next to me in line. Ten minutes later, she and I were on the floor together.
Miss Legs decided that she was not ready to order yet, so she came back and stood by my shoulder. I presented my Gold Card and I asked if I had any coupons or rewards. "No, sorry," but they gave me the secret code to the executive washroom.
When I came out of the washroom back to my table, Miss Legs had spilled her lemonade behind my chair, so I got down on my knees and started putting the ice cubes into my extra Starbucks cup. Miss Legs knelt down facing me, and we cleaned up the mess together. She went to a Catholic high school, just like I did, but she has not yet declared a major. I told her that if she spills her drink another day, I hope that I will be there to help her clean it up.
The next morning I went down to the */R and they had put out only the first section of all four newspapers. It was terribly frustrating, but I read all four first sections and took the #49 from 1124 Pike Street to the Bachelor Starbucks. Then I had to scroung the New York Times at my neighborhood Starbucks. It had an obituary of the secretary who helped Scott Fitzgerald write "The Last Tycoon," which I read two months ago.
Yesterday morning the Roastery had put out only the first two sections of all four newspapers, so I took the NYT and sat in the Coffee Library to read it. A beautiful woman waved into the Library at me, so I waved back. Then I went up into the Tasting Room and I went through what sections they had of the WSJ, the Seattle Times, and the Financial Times. Suddenly I saw a woman walk in whom I recognized as the Director of Operations for the entire Starbucks Reserve Roastery and Tasting Room. I jumped up and told her, "They are holding back on the newspapers." She looked at me quizzically. I explained, "They are putting out only the first two sections of each newspaper."
The Director of Operations cupped my left elbow in her hand and she said, "Thanks for letting me know. I will look into it." Then I took the #49 and had a bagel with the Amiga Mole at the Bachelor Starbucks. Later I took the #48 to West Green Lake and took a swim in the Seattle heat wave. I had to safety-pin my Starbucks Gold Card into my back pocket, but it should still work okay. Later in the evening I programmed artificial intelligence.