An open letter to the other software developers at Amazon

The baristas at Tully’s do not find you interesting, witty, or charming. They are being polite to you because they are paid to do so, not because they feel any sort of affection for you or are at all intrigued by your awkward attempts at flirting. The best you can hope to achieve with the girls behind the counter is a politely detached pity. Should they happen to smile during their interaction with you, rest assured that pity is the cause — sure, they may be amused, maybe they even have laughed at one of your jokes in the past, but always remember that you are giving them money. Besides, haven’t you ever laughed at the blunders of someone farther down the social ladder than yourself, assuming such a person exists?

It’s not that I don’t respect your attempts to have normal human interaction with the employees of the coffee shop. Chances are that you desperately need the practice. But for the rest of us, the ones who understand that the baristas don’t actually want to be our friends, your tiresome displays are just another hurdle between us and vital, vital caffeination. Maybe if the coffee they give us in the break room were suitable for human consumption and not just as a general solvent then this wouldn’t be an issue, but as long as Tully’s is my only viable source of brain juice, I must insist that you expedite your trip through the line.

I’m thinking specifically of you, guy that read his horoscope out loud to the clearly bored cashier today. The employees post the horoscope daily for their own amusement, not as an opening to be hit upon. It was bad enough that you paid with plastic for your $1.75 drip coffee; you needn’t have wasted another precious thirty seconds foisting your bumbling, unwelcome sexual advances upon the help. I don’t know about you, but I have software to write, so flirt on your own time.

This letter does not apply to anyone in a position to fire me.