On Protocol.....

At the end of the day, after the last whistle is whet and the last shoe drops, cast every other classification aside and divide the world’s inhabitants in two: those who are capable of talking on a cell phone while taking a shit in a communal bathroom and those who find this behavior reprehensible.

I am firmly in the latter camp. The same can not be said for all my colleagues at work.

Just last week I was on le toilet letting nature take its course. I had my sights on a quiet, solitary stall session. It wasn’t to be.

About thirty seconds into the proceedings I hear the squatter to my left barking out international travel arrangements on his cell phone to a woman at United Airlines.

Here we go.

From that moment on I couldn't keep my thoughts in check, they had already booked a first-class ticket to Mordor. And they -- my thoughts -- kept asking the same question over and over: "how?"

How did frequent flier #3442000741 get to a juncture whereby he’s making airlines reservations in a communal bathroom? Had he: 1) been on hold for twenty minutes and refused to quit the United queue when a higher, digestive master came calling (best case scenario) or perhaps 2) his day was so busy he had to double up on duties (less encouraging) or finally it’s possible 3) he really didn’t care who heard about his upcoming trip to Australia out of ORD, leaving at 2:23 PM on March 23rd and returning two weeks later (deserving of the guillotine).

Regardless of the events leading up to the call, I still can’t believe 31B wasn’t deterred by the prospect of a co-worker or manager (!) bumping into this conversation. Wouldn’t sharing a bathroom with 100 people on a floor of business deter you from merging your business with your business?

There’s an instruction manual for everything in this world, even for off-on devices. Perhaps we need a user guide to bathroom protocol as well.

Moving onto another group needing a protocol overhaul....

Somebody needs to call the Better Business Bureau and rein in the Starbucks baristas – they’re getting sloppy with their pours.

Every day I buy a grande coffee at Sbucks; every day the barista asks me if I want a little room for cream and sugar; every day I say “a little” (emphasis on little). Seems like a reasonable exchange, but then the barista hands over my coffee and the little room has turned into a suite at the Ritz: 1/3 of my coffee is gone.

Now let’s think this through.

My entire cup of coffee costs Starbucks in the neighborhood of $.20. They sell it to me for ten times that. Knowing as much, if you’re going to err on one side of the “little room” equation, wouldn’t you leave more coffee in the cup and allow customers to pour some out (if needed)? Isn’t that more logical than potentially alienating a customer over $.02 of coffee?

Isn’t it?

And while we’re on the subject of coffee, here's another matter for shared contemplation: why does everyone make a big deal about “fresh” coffee beans? It’s not like Juan Carlos, manager de bean fields in Colombia, has a just-in-time inventory system and a FedEx loading dock for straight-to-Sbucks consumption.

In actuality, Juan Carlos’ management “system” starts and stops with Alejandra – Juan Carlos’ niece and most talented field operator/picker of beans – who yells at her overweight, good-for-nothing uncle twice hourly: “Juan Carlos, another bag of beans is ready you hijo de puta...come and get it.”

After forty minutes of Alejandra's hiena-like screams, Juan Carlos will stumble to action: calling his brother Jorge on the walkie talkie. Jorge is on siesta but agrees to come pick up the next bag of beans three hours hence forth, after siesta and his favorite program, Amas de Casa Desesperadas (the local version of Desperate Housewives), is over.

Jorge will then take the beans to the processing plant. Juan Carlos prefers the ferment-and-wash processing method, whereby the remainder of the pulp is removed from the bean by breaking down the cellulose and fermenting the beans before washing them with large amounts of water, or in this case, saliva.

When the eight-week fermentation is complete, Jorge’s beloved, Vilma de la Flores, sprays “aroma” scents from an 800-liter spray bottle onto the beans, ensuring the beans leave Colombia smelling of earthen soil and poverty.

Once the beans are spray-scented and packaged, they are a meager three ships, four ports, and two U.S. eighteen-wheelers away from Chicago delivery. Estimated duration: 24 days.

Putting things into perspective, from the time the beans are picked until the time they are pressed into coffee, the Afghan people have lived through four dictatorships and three Khaled Hosseini novels.

Not that I'm upset with Juan Carlos in the least. His magic beans are my morning’s savior, every morning. Rather, my point is this: is it really fresh beans (aromas) that we care about? Wouldn’t you drink a Juan Carlos’ roast circa ’78 if it tasted bien and offered the necessary morning jolt?

In this realm know that Knobs “Old Bean” Coffee is now seeking investors, with immediate plans to serve customers on a knob near you. Anyone who picks up a copy of the offering memorandum will also notice that our marketing slogan is already intact: “Maximum caffeine & maximum taste...poured to the brim every time....using the oldest beans we could find.”

Howard Schultz: did you get our Christmas Card? The one posted from Southern Indiana. No matter, I'll fill you in on its message.

It said: "your days are officially numbered."

*2% of the proceeds from Knobs “Old Bean” Coffee will go directly to the “Save the Vixens of South America” Fund – our preferred philanthropic partner for the new millenium.