It is what it is

I walked into a Starbucks in Orlando, November of 2023. I travel a lot; when I go to Orlando I go to Disney World, and after I go to Disney World I go to Starbucks to unwind. The place was quite chaotic; a barista appeared to be saving an old woman's life. She had perhaps collapsed of a heart attack, and he, the barista, was taking charge of the situation. My guess was that he was African, based on his appearance and his British accent; the important thing was that he had the authority of a doctor who knew what he was doing; everyone else just gave him room and brought him whatever he asked for, like a wet cloth or soft towel.

The other barista, a young, pretty girl, was therefore left with a backlog of orders and trying to get everyone's order prepared; when I commented on how busy it was, she just said, "It is what it is" and kept working.

I'd always hated that phrase, I thought, though I was happy that she'd gotten me my large coffee relatively quickly and that I'd beaten the long line that was developing behind me. I thought of my long day at Disney World. I'd skipped most of the rides as usual; I go to watch the people. As an immigrant from Ireland, I find it an incredible display of everything America is or wants to be, and it's a complete indulgence in fantasy. But then, Starbucks itself is very American too, with its three-dollar coffees and whipped-cream drinks.

I took my plain coffee over into the corner behind a display case and settled in a table back there. A couple of people behind me were having a serious discussion of some kind, and right away it was clear they were from Disney. You can't escape Disney in this town, I thought as I sipped my coffee, but I was actually interested in eavesdropping on their conversation, so I did. In the corner, the one barista appeared to have the situation under control. The place was crowded and I'd got one of the last tables. But there was no way I could not hear this conversation behind me.

The older man, with some authority and self-assurance, was rattling off a list of recent Disney movie failures. Lightyear, Elemental, The Little Mermaid, Strange World: all had flopped, and this guy appeared to know how badly and how their poor performance had matched up to Disney's expectations, or at least the stockholders' expectations.

Now while I was listening to this guy go on about movie failures, a little boy of about four, apparently named Sam, was causing all kinds of trouble while his mother, or a woman who appeared to be his mother, called at him from across the room. At this moment he was pulling napkins out of the napkin-holder one at a time and letting them float gently toward the floor. "Sam! You stop that!" she'd say from across the room, but then she'd go back to talking to whoever she was busy talking to.

All these people were oblivious to the drama unfolding over in the other corner of the store, with the older lady, who had perhaps had a heart attack and who now appeared to be saved. The barista had known what he was doing, apparently; the 911 people, as I call them, had now arrived and were taking her by stretcher out the door on that side of the store. Good job, barista! He took a look at the long line snaking out the store to the main doorway, and apologized to the young girl who was still making some specialty drink. It was just them and this very crowded coffee shop.

The discussion of the two Disney employees turned to what had gone wrong and what could be done about it. Why had these movies flopped so spectacularly? One generally accepted theory was that the public was mad because Disney had bucked Governor DeSantis' efforts to control what children saw; that in taking a public stand against this kind of control they were saying that they would do what they wanted and not buckle under to conservative censorship. Another theory was that the increasing politicization of everything meant that even the appearance of a gay character in one of their movies now was taking a stand against the mainstream conservative desire to shield children from the message that gay was ok.

I was interested in how the younger person in the conversation, who could probably be an applicant for some job in the film-making part of the company, hedged and gave answers that didn't reveal too much of what he really thought. It was as if he was trying to get the job from the older man, but had to figure out how to align with the older man's philosophy first. But the older man seemed to be on both sides of the social questions, and at the same tiime more focused more on the bottom line.

I had only a large coffee, no whipped cream, no chocolate, no nothing, so I sipped it slowly and kept listening. At the same time I watched Sam make a little tent pile with the stirring sticks, I listened to the Disney people continue their interview. Actually it was news to me about these movies and, since Disney is King in this town I figured that anything I could learn would probably on some level be helpful. But the coffee shop now had a new disruption: two angry men charged in past the line and started shouting at the baristas. "How can you support Palestinians? They broke through Israel's border and killed 1400 people! What are you doing? This is an outrage!"

Apparently the Starbucks employee union had come out in favor of Palestinians in the Israel-Hamas War, and were one of the only, if not only, supporters of Palestinians at this point in the war; thus they were the most visible target for strongly pro-Israeli protesters. These two angry men did not appear to be Israeli, or even Jewish, though one never knows, and they felt strongly enough about it that they could shout even in a busy coffee shop, disrupting business and putting everyone on edge. Even Sam gave up his business with the sticks, and the two Disney guys behind me paused for a few minutes to listen to their angry yelling. We were all trying to figure out how they could be so angry at hapless baristas. What did they want? Were they going to commit violence?

The two poor baristas got very upset. The young woman was flustered and became almost unable to make a cappucino. I could tell she knew very little about the Israel-Hamas war, but was more upset about the jarring atmosphere these two angry men caused by their shouting. The one who had just saved the old woman's life, however, was much more active in trying to talk his way out of this confrontation. He explained to them that the union did not necessarily represent every barista's view and that baristas sometimes had to go along with the majority just like everyone else. I was grateful that it didn't appear to be heading toward violence. The two angry men, after making their feelings clearly known and turning the entire coffee shop into a confrontation over the war, finally left in a huff saying that Starbucks wouldn't be getting much of their business for a while.

I had an odd thought when they said that. Chances are, I thought, that they would never really come here for a coffee anyway. Three quarters of the world never goes to a Starbucks ever, and they were probably the same way. It was like my day at Disney World in a way; I always consider Disney World a marvel, quintessentially American, and it is, yet a wide swath of America would never go there, or would never be able to afford it. To say you're going to boycott a place that you never go to anyway isn't saying much, but I could tell the baristas weren't happy about that loud recrimination in their small coffee shop.

The African barista had now come over to deal with Sam, who was somewhat relentless in disrupting the little table of coffee extras: caps, stirrers, creamer, little packets of sugar. He'd ransacked the place, in his own four-year-old way. His mother was apologetic, but she was a little late; he'd already done his damage. And she'd gotten what, probably her only break all morning. But the African barista was more than patient. He had saved a life, diffused a political crisis, and now put a young hooligan back in the care of his mother, all in the course of ten minutes. I finally talked to him a little, and told him that I admired his skill in managing that older woman who'd had a heart attack, in getting 911 help and getting her out of here as quickly as possible, as minutes count in such situations. I made a little comment about the mother's neglect, although she'd at least tried, but he didn't want to say anything bad about the mother, saying only "it is what it is," a kind of wry commentary that he'd probably picked up from the other barista.

It turns out he actually was a doctor in his home country, which may have been Eritrea or something, and this was the best job he could get in Orlando or anywhere in the US. He didn't have much time to talk. But he had children at home, and he knew that there wasn't much use in exploding at them or getting overly angry at what to them was just a natural process of discovery.

The two guys behind me had widened their discussion to include all of Disney. The filmmaking part of it and Disney World were only part of a huge corporation that had a lot of pressure on it to succeed. Even Disney World had had trouble with the pandemic and all, and I probably could have jumped into the conversation at this point, because I'd seen Disney World's response to the pandemic and knew that things weren't easy over there. There's nothing worse than too many Mickeys and not enough kids, or kids who are afraid to pose for a picture with any of the dressed-up characters all around.

Much to my surprise, just before I left, the older guy announced that the younger guy had the job if he wanted it. What job, exactly, I had no idea, because I'd missed parts of their conversation, but it was now clear that this was an interview. The younger guy, nervous and clearly with second thoughts, took it but with a little hesitation. I wondered what I would do if I were offered a job at Disney - a once in a lifetime experience, I'm sure. I was doing well with what I had, but a day off, especially one surrounded by Mickeys and Goofys, always made me reflect a little.

I could just give it all up and go back to Ireland, I thought, as I drained my cup, threw it away, and prepared to leave. But I actually found the African guy somewhat inspirational. This place must be really different from what he was used to. He seemed to have the patience and strength to deal with whatever came his way. I could only hope I could learn from that, as I gathered my things and jumped back into the world.

Now, the last disaster happened: A woman spilled an entire large drink, whipped cream and all, on the floor by the door. She was nearly hysterical and left to find some way to clean it up. The baristas, at the edge of their patience now, assured her and said it would all work out. The mother was trying to get Sam to walk around it, as they were leaving too, but Sam was somewhat fascinated with how the whipped cream floated on the spilled coffee. Finally, though, he gave up looking at it, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "it is what it is!"