The Closer We Get, The Further We Are

Technology has provided us with so many advances in becoming a truly global world. We are able to connect with people where we once felt alienated.  We can find long lost friends we never thought we'd see again and re-establish wonderful relationships with them.  We can make new friends from, perhaps, another place on Earth.  And we can learn.  So much is at our fingertips.  This is, truly, quite beautiful.

Yet, at what point does "being connected" actually cause one to lose out on what it means to connect with the rest of the world?  It's one thing to be at home, on your computer but are still being an active part of the global community.  It's another, entirely, when you are in public and can't even make eye contact with another person with whom you're speaking because you're too busy texting or on the phone or internet or have to immediately put whomever you're with "on hold" so you can check the call or text.  What you are actually doing is treating your fellow man, those interacting with you, like the machines you have fallen captive to.  It's simple to not see someone on the other end of a typed conversation (and many forget, even then, that there's an actual human at play there, as well).

I work in a Starbucks drive-thru.  I'd done the office thing for years and it was draining.  I relish the interaction with random people (as well as my co-workers).  An office saps the life out of someone.  The unfortunate thing is that there are only about 20% of our customers who have the ability to interact face to face.  At least several times a day, when someone pulls up to the box to order, we are the ones told to "hold on" as they finish their conversation.  Not once has someone been dying or some other such emergency taken place during these conversations (we're often graced with the whole thing over our headsets; and watch because those boxes have cameras).  They usually, after about a minute, put their friend on hold, rattle off their order and pull away as we are confirming their order.  At the window the conversation (or texting) continues as either money or cards are thrust at us (without a glance) or, if we need to ask a question about the order they neglected to confirm, we get an index finger in our faces.  Our job is to have customers go away happy.  Quite often, however, our complaints are for things beyond our control (yes, there is an online survey) because for some of the detailed complaints we do specifically remember the incidents.  Despite ours, the workers', best efforts we still get negative reviews for the things which could easily have been avoided had we been treated like the flesh and blood we are as opposed to the machines you consider us to be.

Although I complain of the majority, it is the 20% of those, who do have some sort of spark of divinity in them, that make me love what I do and keep coming back.  This is what many of us consider "personal relationships"; those people you can talk to and whom you look forward to seeing.  If I don't see some of our customers some day I actually worry that something may be wrong.  Several dear customers have passed away (one who's wife still comes by) and I continue to think about them.  This is what human interaction is about and it's something I hope we never lose.  Although, we are on that very verge.