I'm normally quite understanding, but a poorly designed system at my local coffee shop caused me to lose my patience, and I'm ashamed, writes Angela Wright
This translation has been automatically generated and has not been verified for accuracy.First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines atI think I might be a “Karen.” My husband didn’t know what a Karen was. If you don’t know either, I’ll put it another way: an entitled white woman who wants what she wants.
I work hard to not be a “Karen.” I stand patiently in line at the grocery store, I offer my hands for the spray-on sanitizer with a smile on my face. I thank the check out people profusely and try not to touch the fruit. Sometimes I do touch the fruit. For that I am sorry. I wonder why people order food to be delivered from coffee shops? Actually, the food makes sense, but the coffee? Won’t it be cold by the time it arrives? How do the drivers prevent the coffee from spilling all over? What happens when the order goes in and the person behind the counter has no sesame seed bagels? Do they substitute a different kind of bagel? I can successfully substitute bagels for my husband but I’ve known him for 25 years.
At the 25 minute mark I got to the counter and said to the young woman that while I knew it was not her fault, this system was not working. I told her she needed to tell her manager that you cannot treat your in-person customers this way. She pointed out the manager to me. At that moment I realized, I was being a Karen! I mumbled something and slunk away … to wait for another 10 minutes for my small coffee with one cream.