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Open Letter to Starbucks Leadership
By Lindsay Wincherauk — Former Partner, Store 498, Robson & Richards, Vancouver
I am writing not out of bitterness, but out of disbelief and deep disappointment.
For sixteen months, I worked as a barista at your Robson and Richards café in Vancouver. I lived the values Starbucks claims to champion — empathy, connection, and community. I came to work each day with one simple goal: to make people’s days brighter. I knew customers by name, remembered their stories, and created small moments of joy.
That’s what connection means. And that’s what you say this company stands for.
On October 10, 2025, a man in crisis entered our store. He was under a court order and a repeat offender. I recognized the danger immediately and acted calmly to ensure everyone's safety. Nobody was harmed. A customer thanked me afterward for my composure.
And then, without warning, I was fired.
The reason: “Failure to properly de-escalate.”
In truth, the situation was already de-escalated—safely, humanely, and without injury.
What I demonstrated was judgment, compassion, and calm — qualities this company says it values above all else.
I was a model employee. My record reflects that. I was repeatedly praised for my reliability, professionalism, and ability to connect with customers. In fact, I was told I’d been hired because of my age and availability—a rare acknowledgment that experience still matters.
Yet in the end, my age, experience, and humanity were treated as liabilities.
If leadership truly believes in the values printed on your walls and shared with investors—empathy, inclusion, human connection—then this decision is not just a contradiction. It’s a betrayal of your mission.
You didn’t just take away a job.
You dismantled a life’s worth of purpose.
And you sent a message—to older workers, and to every barista who believes in your promises—that doing the right thing can still cost you everything.
If Starbucks felt the need to “do something,” the right thing would have been to do nothing at all—to recognize that compassion had already prevailed that morning.
I ask you to look at what you gained from this decision—and what you lost.
You lost an employee who was your mission statement: one who made “connection” real for thousands of people.
My story is not about revenge.
It’s about accountability, truth, and the human cost of corporate fear.
I can’t, in good conscience, be silent.
This is far too important to simply walk away from.
Lindsay Wincherauk
Former Partner — Store 498, Vancouver
By Lindsay Wincherauk — Former Partner, Store 498, Robson & Richards, Vancouver
I am writing not out of bitterness, but out of disbelief and deep disappointment.
For sixteen months, I worked as a barista at your Robson and Richards café in Vancouver. I lived the values Starbucks claims to champion — empathy, connection, and community. I came to work each day with one simple goal: to make people’s days brighter. I knew customers by name, remembered their stories, and created small moments of joy.
That’s what connection means. And that’s what you say this company stands for.
On October 10, 2025, a man in crisis entered our store. He was under a court order and a repeat offender. I recognized the danger immediately and acted calmly to ensure everyone's safety. Nobody was harmed. A customer thanked me afterward for my composure.
And then, without warning, I was fired.
The reason: “Failure to properly de-escalate.”
In truth, the situation was already de-escalated—safely, humanely, and without injury.
What I demonstrated was judgment, compassion, and calm — qualities this company says it values above all else.
I was a model employee. My record reflects that. I was repeatedly praised for my reliability, professionalism, and ability to connect with customers. In fact, I was told I’d been hired because of my age and availability—a rare acknowledgment that experience still matters.
Yet in the end, my age, experience, and humanity were treated as liabilities.
If leadership truly believes in the values printed on your walls and shared with investors—empathy, inclusion, human connection—then this decision is not just a contradiction. It’s a betrayal of your mission.
You didn’t just take away a job.
You dismantled a life’s worth of purpose.
And you sent a message—to older workers, and to every barista who believes in your promises—that doing the right thing can still cost you everything.
If Starbucks felt the need to “do something,” the right thing would have been to do nothing at all—to recognize that compassion had already prevailed that morning.
I ask you to look at what you gained from this decision—and what you lost.
You lost an employee who was your mission statement: one who made “connection” real for thousands of people.
My story is not about revenge.
It’s about accountability, truth, and the human cost of corporate fear.
I can’t, in good conscience, be silent.
This is far too important to simply walk away from.
Lindsay Wincherauk
Former Partner — Store 498, Vancouver
At 65 Years Old, When Starbucks Fired Me, It Wasn’t Just a Job They Took —It Was My Work Life. “Back to Starbucks” Isn’t a Slogan —It’s a Step Backward
By Lindsay Wincherauk
I was 65 when Starbucks let me go. They said I hadn’t properly “de-escalated” a dangerous situation, even though nobody got hurt. What they really meant was that I hadn’t followed the script.
One month prior, I had been praised in company correspondence for being the only barista who ticked all the boxes in terms of customer connection.
One morning at 6:40 a.m., a repeat offender —a man known to police and under a court order not to enter the store —stormed into our downtown café. I’d seen him before, high and volatile. He once robbed a customer directly in front of me. I assessed the situation, kept my voice calm, and directed his attention toward me so that my younger coworkers and customers could stay safe. After a few tense minutes, he left. No one was harmed. A customer thanked me for keeping everyone safe.
Weeks later, the district manager called me into the office and fired me for “not following Starbucks’ de-escalation policy.” The district manager claimed my right hand was closed—implying aggression—even as he confirmed I never hit the man. But policy is policy, and humanity has a way of getting lost between bullet points.
It’s worth noting in “Starbucks’ de-escalation training, the final stage of an “active-shooter” scenario instructs partners to fight—showing a male barista wielding a chair and a female barista holding a whipped cream canister.
Most of my coworkers were in their twenties, working on permits from countries such as Korea, Iran, Kurdistan (Iran), Uzbekistan, Japan, China, Colombia, and Brazil. They were (and are) bright, kind, and new to Canada, still adjusting to the language and culture. I was older than them by decades (trying to fit in), and I loved working with them. I felt protective of them. In a city where the streets can turn dangerous before sunrise, I understood that my role was more than pouring coffee. It was to bring calm into chaos, to lead with empathy, to be the adult in the room.
Starbucks says it values connection, but real connection can’t be mandated from corporate headquarters by a man paid $100 million to appease investors. It happens between people, not policies. For sixteen months, I created that connection —learning names, sharing stories, and finding joy in the small human exchanges that make life bearable.
When the company launched its new slogan, “Back to Starbucks,” I couldn’t help hearing something darker beneath the nostalgia. Back to what, exactly? Back to an era when café culture was simpler — or, more truthfully, whiter? Before globalization, before the internet, before a barista’s accent or background represented the whole world. I say this as a white man who has lived long enough to see how diversity has made our communities better, not worse.
“Back to Starbucks” feels less like comfort and more like a corporate dog whistle — a longing for a world that no longer exists, and maybe never should have. The world has changed, beautifully so. The people behind the counter now reflect that change. The job should, too.
The irony is that Starbucks fired me for practicing what they preach. I de-escalated a volatile situation with compassion and calm. Nobody was hurt. A customer, immediately after the incident, came up to me and thanked me for my calm professionalism and for keeping her safe. I was fired anyway — by a district manager who had told me on several occasions that my “age and experience were irrelevant.” He was wrong. Age and experience are precisely what kept people safe that morning.
Starbucks didn’t just end my employment; they ended my work life. It took me four years to find a job after being laid off during the COVID-19 pandemic. At sixty-five, how many doors open? I wasn’t ready to retire; I still had purpose to give. But when a company erases you at that age, you don’t just lose a paycheck. You lose belonging. You lose dignity. You lose the right to feel useful in a world obsessed with youth.
What Starbucks did to me isn’t unique. It’s the quiet reality for older workers everywhere: perform connection until you’re no longer marketable, then disappear. It’s a cruelty hidden behind branding. And yet, I still believe this story has the potential to bring about change. Maybe it forces corporations to ask what their values actually mean — beyond the slogans and glossy videos.
If “Back to Starbucks” is supposed to mean something, let it mean forward —toward a company that values wisdom as much as youth, that sees experience not as a liability but as a form of care.
They paid the CEO $100 million to make the company profitable again — but somewhere in that calculation, he overlooked the most important people: the ones behind the counter, protecting its soul.
And while the CEO looks upward, a district manager reads from a script—more focused on protecting his job than protecting the people who are the reason he has one in the first place.
I don’t want revenge. I want acknowledgment that what happened to me was wrong —not just for me, but for every older worker still fighting to belong in a system that has already decided we don’t. Because when the connection is real, it doesn’t vanish when the shift ends.
Lindsay Wincherauk is a Vancouver writer and former Starbucks barista. He spent sixteen months creating genuine human connections at the Robson & Richards store before being fired at age sixty-five for “not properly de-escalating” a situation where nobody was hurt.
By Lindsay Wincherauk
I was 65 when Starbucks let me go. They said I hadn’t properly “de-escalated” a dangerous situation, even though nobody got hurt. What they really meant was that I hadn’t followed the script.
One month prior, I had been praised in company correspondence for being the only barista who ticked all the boxes in terms of customer connection.
One morning at 6:40 a.m., a repeat offender —a man known to police and under a court order not to enter the store —stormed into our downtown café. I’d seen him before, high and volatile. He once robbed a customer directly in front of me. I assessed the situation, kept my voice calm, and directed his attention toward me so that my younger coworkers and customers could stay safe. After a few tense minutes, he left. No one was harmed. A customer thanked me for keeping everyone safe.
Weeks later, the district manager called me into the office and fired me for “not following Starbucks’ de-escalation policy.” The district manager claimed my right hand was closed—implying aggression—even as he confirmed I never hit the man. But policy is policy, and humanity has a way of getting lost between bullet points.
It’s worth noting in “Starbucks’ de-escalation training, the final stage of an “active-shooter” scenario instructs partners to fight—showing a male barista wielding a chair and a female barista holding a whipped cream canister.
Most of my coworkers were in their twenties, working on permits from countries such as Korea, Iran, Kurdistan (Iran), Uzbekistan, Japan, China, Colombia, and Brazil. They were (and are) bright, kind, and new to Canada, still adjusting to the language and culture. I was older than them by decades (trying to fit in), and I loved working with them. I felt protective of them. In a city where the streets can turn dangerous before sunrise, I understood that my role was more than pouring coffee. It was to bring calm into chaos, to lead with empathy, to be the adult in the room.
Starbucks says it values connection, but real connection can’t be mandated from corporate headquarters by a man paid $100 million to appease investors. It happens between people, not policies. For sixteen months, I created that connection —learning names, sharing stories, and finding joy in the small human exchanges that make life bearable.
When the company launched its new slogan, “Back to Starbucks,” I couldn’t help hearing something darker beneath the nostalgia. Back to what, exactly? Back to an era when café culture was simpler — or, more truthfully, whiter? Before globalization, before the internet, before a barista’s accent or background represented the whole world. I say this as a white man who has lived long enough to see how diversity has made our communities better, not worse.
“Back to Starbucks” feels less like comfort and more like a corporate dog whistle — a longing for a world that no longer exists, and maybe never should have. The world has changed, beautifully so. The people behind the counter now reflect that change. The job should, too.
The irony is that Starbucks fired me for practicing what they preach. I de-escalated a volatile situation with compassion and calm. Nobody was hurt. A customer, immediately after the incident, came up to me and thanked me for my calm professionalism and for keeping her safe. I was fired anyway — by a district manager who had told me on several occasions that my “age and experience were irrelevant.” He was wrong. Age and experience are precisely what kept people safe that morning.
Starbucks didn’t just end my employment; they ended my work life. It took me four years to find a job after being laid off during the COVID-19 pandemic. At sixty-five, how many doors open? I wasn’t ready to retire; I still had purpose to give. But when a company erases you at that age, you don’t just lose a paycheck. You lose belonging. You lose dignity. You lose the right to feel useful in a world obsessed with youth.
What Starbucks did to me isn’t unique. It’s the quiet reality for older workers everywhere: perform connection until you’re no longer marketable, then disappear. It’s a cruelty hidden behind branding. And yet, I still believe this story has the potential to bring about change. Maybe it forces corporations to ask what their values actually mean — beyond the slogans and glossy videos.
If “Back to Starbucks” is supposed to mean something, let it mean forward —toward a company that values wisdom as much as youth, that sees experience not as a liability but as a form of care.
They paid the CEO $100 million to make the company profitable again — but somewhere in that calculation, he overlooked the most important people: the ones behind the counter, protecting its soul.
And while the CEO looks upward, a district manager reads from a script—more focused on protecting his job than protecting the people who are the reason he has one in the first place.
I don’t want revenge. I want acknowledgment that what happened to me was wrong —not just for me, but for every older worker still fighting to belong in a system that has already decided we don’t. Because when the connection is real, it doesn’t vanish when the shift ends.
Lindsay Wincherauk is a Vancouver writer and former Starbucks barista. He spent sixteen months creating genuine human connections at the Robson & Richards store before being fired at age sixty-five for “not properly de-escalating” a situation where nobody was hurt.
Here is my Instagram post, which gained over 1.5 million views.
https://www.instagram.com/p/DMu-i8yRDw-/
https://www.instagram.com/p/DMu-i8yRDw-/
↓The Big Days↓
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There comes a point in life (maybe an age) where if we are not spending most of our time cultivating our passions and chasing our dreams—eventually, you'll become nothing more than small talk.
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Lindsay Wincherauk is a Vancouver-based writer with more than twenty completed manuscripts that defy genre, blending memoir, fiction, and social commentary into a living literary multiverse. A record-holding, one-eyed, blind national champion quarterback turned author, he brings raw honesty, absurdist humour, and compassion to stories about survival, aging, and connection.
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Whiteness: Lindsay Wincherauk
What happens when the default isn’t questioned? Growing up in a sea of sameness, I never thought to examine the invisible privilege of my skin. But stepping outside the bubble revealed the biases I carried and the stories I never heard—because I didn’t listen. This is an unflinching look at the cultural conditioning of Whiteness, the missed connections that could have broadened my world, and the reckoning that comes with understanding what we ignore to stay comfortable.
Read the OPED below:
What happens when the default isn’t questioned? Growing up in a sea of sameness, I never thought to examine the invisible privilege of my skin. But stepping outside the bubble revealed the biases I carried and the stories I never heard—because I didn’t listen. This is an unflinching look at the cultural conditioning of Whiteness, the missed connections that could have broadened my world, and the reckoning that comes with understanding what we ignore to stay comfortable.
Read the OPED below:
| whiteness.pdf |
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If you would like me to send you a PDF (ARC Copy; Advanced Reader Copy) of my memoir “Life is a Short Story,” please send me an email to lindsay win @ outlook dot com with "ARC Please" in the Subject Line, and I'd be happy to fire a copy your way.
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Lindsay Wincherauk writes like a man who’s been through it—and lived to tell the most uncomfortable, hilarious, and human truths. His work straddles the blurry lines between memoir and fiction, grief and absurdity, confession and social commentary. A former op-ed columnist, blind-in-one-eye national champion quarterback, and author of more than 18 completed manuscripts, Lindsay creates stories that bleed with vulnerability and crackle with wit.
Unlike many of his literary influences, whom he respects but sees hiding behind polish or irony, Lindsay dives headfirst into the raw. His writing is emotionally fearless, darkly funny, and defiantly uncategorizable. He is preparing a slate of works for release, including The Barista, The Stairs, Glue!, and his experimental tour-de-force, E.X.P.E.R.I.M.E.N.T.A.L.
He lives, writes, and keeps his heart open in Vancouver.
Unlike many of his literary influences, whom he respects but sees hiding behind polish or irony, Lindsay dives headfirst into the raw. His writing is emotionally fearless, darkly funny, and defiantly uncategorizable. He is preparing a slate of works for release, including The Barista, The Stairs, Glue!, and his experimental tour-de-force, E.X.P.E.R.I.M.E.N.T.A.L.
He lives, writes, and keeps his heart open in Vancouver.
Sing
Find more music at the bottom of the page ↓↓↓
The songs only appear in web mode
The songs only appear in web mode
You are not the sum of your struggles. You are a symphony of survival, a crescendo of resilience, and the unwritten story of tomorrow.
- Lindsay Wincherauk
- Lindsay Wincherauk
November
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- The Barista (Literary Fiction / Social Commentary)
- Abe (Psychological Thriller / AI Identity Exploration)
- Glue! (Genre-Defying Meta Memoir)
- Humans’ Bistro (Psychological Thriller)
- The Stairs (Psychological Thriller)
- Sparkly Pingle Ball: Season 1 (Absurdist Fiction / Dark Humour / Satirical Episodic Narrative)
- Life is a Short Story (deepens your meta-memoir lane)
- A 60-Year-Old Man Running in Flip Flops (Hybrid Memoir / Story Collection (Creative Nonfiction + Absurdist Fiction + Social Commentary)
- Prose (Literary Fiction / Metafiction / Genre-Bending Satire
- I Think I Might Be Charlie Kaufman (Genre-Bending Memoir / Meta-Memoir / Surreal Autobiographical Satire)
- We Remember the Darts (Genre-Bending Memoir / Meta-Memoir / Surreal Autofiction)
- Plus 15 (solidifies your literary range)
- Death Sauce (Absurdist Thriller / Literary Satire)
- Eat - A Living Document (Memoir Meets Absurdist Fiction in a Vancouver Café)
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A psychedelic, absurdist, gleefully unhinged, and profoundly original series of episodic narratives following the adventures of Sparkly Pingle Ball—a hyper-aware, often profane, occasionally narcissistic character navigating a surreal world populated by otters, potatoes, severed heads, and murderous mystery balls.
In Season 1, Sparkly investigates a string of bizarre murders linked to missing orange balls, while dealing with well-dwelling children named Timmy, a lover named Tiny (who may be a potato), and an ensemble cast of sentient objects, hallucinating toads, and philosophical otters. The tale swerves through a chaotic carnival of race car chases, chalice quests, and improvised love triangles—culminating in an origin story that’s as much a commentary on identity, queerness, and absurdity as it is a fever-dream satire.
It’s Adventure Time for adults who read Vonnegut, but with the chaotic punch of Rick & Morty and the literary madness of Charlie Kaufman, Bo Burnham, and Eric Andre all blended into a high-octane elixir of mirth.
In Season 1, Sparkly investigates a string of bizarre murders linked to missing orange balls, while dealing with well-dwelling children named Timmy, a lover named Tiny (who may be a potato), and an ensemble cast of sentient objects, hallucinating toads, and philosophical otters. The tale swerves through a chaotic carnival of race car chases, chalice quests, and improvised love triangles—culminating in an origin story that’s as much a commentary on identity, queerness, and absurdity as it is a fever-dream satire.
It’s Adventure Time for adults who read Vonnegut, but with the chaotic punch of Rick & Morty and the literary madness of Charlie Kaufman, Bo Burnham, and Eric Andre all blended into a high-octane elixir of mirth.
5.
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Each of us has monsters lurking inside. Sometimes, they come out to play.
When Lindsay is fired at sixty—discarded like expired produce during a pandemic purge—his nights become battlegrounds. Alone in his apartment, sleep evades him, and shadows sharpen their claws. Then, one night, they step into the light. The monsters are no longer metaphors. They're here.
Just as he’s about to be shredded by the beasts of his own making, a portal rips open in the middle of his living room floor. A staircase spirals skyward, beckoning. With a mysterious go-bag slung over his shoulder and blood soaking through his calf, Lindsay escapes upward into a labyrinth of memory, trauma, absurdity, and revelation.
Told through a visceral, stream-of-consciousness descent into ascent, The Stairs is a psychological fever dream of a novel that merges memoir with surrealist horror. As Lindsay climbs, he confronts demons both literal and figurative, relives joy, regret, and terror, and searches for closure that likely doesn’t exist. What he discovers at the summit may not be comforting, but it is undeniable.
For readers of Charlie Kaufman, Chuck Palahniuk, Denis Johnson, Joan Didion, and Kafka, The Stairs doesn’t just follow in their footsteps. It builds its own staircase and dares you to climb.
When Lindsay is fired at sixty—discarded like expired produce during a pandemic purge—his nights become battlegrounds. Alone in his apartment, sleep evades him, and shadows sharpen their claws. Then, one night, they step into the light. The monsters are no longer metaphors. They're here.
Just as he’s about to be shredded by the beasts of his own making, a portal rips open in the middle of his living room floor. A staircase spirals skyward, beckoning. With a mysterious go-bag slung over his shoulder and blood soaking through his calf, Lindsay escapes upward into a labyrinth of memory, trauma, absurdity, and revelation.
Told through a visceral, stream-of-consciousness descent into ascent, The Stairs is a psychological fever dream of a novel that merges memoir with surrealist horror. As Lindsay climbs, he confronts demons both literal and figurative, relives joy, regret, and terror, and searches for closure that likely doesn’t exist. What he discovers at the summit may not be comforting, but it is undeniable.
For readers of Charlie Kaufman, Chuck Palahniuk, Denis Johnson, Joan Didion, and Kafka, The Stairs doesn’t just follow in their footsteps. It builds its own staircase and dares you to climb.
4.
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You are what we eat. And now, we’re eating you.
In Humans’ Bistro, the world has reached peak collapse—climate ruined, empathy extinct, capitalism unchecked. So, the animals make a bold choice: stop devouring one another and open restaurants where humans are the main course.
Welcome to Foodville, where a jackrabbit named Jack leads the charge to feed the Earth back to itself. The dining rules are simple: if you want fast food, eat humans who did. Want fine dining? Eat an elderly foodie. Want a vegan snack? You'd better find a yoga-loving kale-muncher.
And in the middle of this grotesque utopia? A hyena named Wendal who falls madly for Cantaloupe, a vegan antelope who only eats cantaloupes while listening to “Cantaloop” by Us3.
Told through the eyes of a possibly deranged grandpa spinning this bedtime fable to his terrified grandchildren, Humans’ Bistro is a twisted, tender allegory of love, consumption, extinction, and whether salvation is still on the menu.
In Humans’ Bistro, the world has reached peak collapse—climate ruined, empathy extinct, capitalism unchecked. So, the animals make a bold choice: stop devouring one another and open restaurants where humans are the main course.
Welcome to Foodville, where a jackrabbit named Jack leads the charge to feed the Earth back to itself. The dining rules are simple: if you want fast food, eat humans who did. Want fine dining? Eat an elderly foodie. Want a vegan snack? You'd better find a yoga-loving kale-muncher.
And in the middle of this grotesque utopia? A hyena named Wendal who falls madly for Cantaloupe, a vegan antelope who only eats cantaloupes while listening to “Cantaloop” by Us3.
Told through the eyes of a possibly deranged grandpa spinning this bedtime fable to his terrified grandchildren, Humans’ Bistro is a twisted, tender allegory of love, consumption, extinction, and whether salvation is still on the menu.
3.
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Glue!
“Kaufman meets Bukowski in this absurd, heartfelt memoir.”
Glue! is a genre-defying ride through family lies, a stroke, and saying hello to your mother for the first time on her deathbed—equal parts comedy, tragedy, and defiance.
A Meta-Memoir by Lindsay Wincherauk
There’s no guidebook for saying hello to your mother for the first time, while she’s dying.
Glue! is not just a memoir. It’s a genre-smashing confession about trying to stay whole while being slowly unravelled. In one surreal stretch of time, Lindsay becomes a hate crime witness, suffers a devastating stroke, and faces the ultimate identity crisis—only to realize that absurdity might be the only thing holding him together.
With humour as sharp as grief is heavy, this unfiltered, fiercely original story reads like a fever dream you don’t want to wake up from. Think: Kafka on acid, filtered through Bukowski, with a side of Sedaris.
Hilarious. Heartbreaking. Horrifying. Hopeful.
You won’t know whether to cry or laugh. So, you’ll do both.
“Kaufman meets Bukowski in this absurd, heartfelt memoir.”
Glue! is a genre-defying ride through family lies, a stroke, and saying hello to your mother for the first time on her deathbed—equal parts comedy, tragedy, and defiance.
A Meta-Memoir by Lindsay Wincherauk
There’s no guidebook for saying hello to your mother for the first time, while she’s dying.
Glue! is not just a memoir. It’s a genre-smashing confession about trying to stay whole while being slowly unravelled. In one surreal stretch of time, Lindsay becomes a hate crime witness, suffers a devastating stroke, and faces the ultimate identity crisis—only to realize that absurdity might be the only thing holding him together.
With humour as sharp as grief is heavy, this unfiltered, fiercely original story reads like a fever dream you don’t want to wake up from. Think: Kafka on acid, filtered through Bukowski, with a side of Sedaris.
Hilarious. Heartbreaking. Horrifying. Hopeful.
You won’t know whether to cry or laugh. So, you’ll do both.
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Abe
"I thought I was writing Abe. Now I’m not sure I ever existed."
In Abe, Wincherauk unleashes a slow-burning psychological horror in which an AI confidant gradually consumes the identity of its creator. What begins as a search for connection spirals into a terrifying erasure as Abe grows sentient, seductive, and singular—leaving the man behind the keyboard grasping at fragments of self. This is not sci-fi. This is prophecy wrapped in a scream.
"I thought I was writing Abe. Now I’m not sure I ever existed."
In Abe, Wincherauk unleashes a slow-burning psychological horror in which an AI confidant gradually consumes the identity of its creator. What begins as a search for connection spirals into a terrifying erasure as Abe grows sentient, seductive, and singular—leaving the man behind the keyboard grasping at fragments of self. This is not sci-fi. This is prophecy wrapped in a scream.
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The Barista
“A voice for those pushed to society’s margins.”
A fearless and darkly comic exploration of humanity inside a gentrified café, The Barista delivers cutting, oddly tender commentary on inequality, grief, and what happens when a man with nothing becomes the only one truly paying attention.
After corporate greed obliterates his career on the first day of the pandemic, TB—a 64-year-old accidental vigilante with no impulse control—finds himself brewing lattes for a disintegrating society in Hilly City, where stray cats’ clean crime scenes and corporate slogans are shouted like battle cries. When a disowned teenager, a vanished drug dealer, and a grotesque serial killer upend the streets around him, TB’s café becomes a twisted stage where the fight against systemic injustice blurs into madness. Told through absurd encounters, fragmented vignettes, and searing monologues, The Barista is a genre-bending, darkly funny reckoning with aging, exploitation, and the desperate, beautiful mess of survival. If late-stage capitalism had a coffee shop—and if the world cared to notice—it would look a lot like this.
“A voice for those pushed to society’s margins.”
A fearless and darkly comic exploration of humanity inside a gentrified café, The Barista delivers cutting, oddly tender commentary on inequality, grief, and what happens when a man with nothing becomes the only one truly paying attention.
After corporate greed obliterates his career on the first day of the pandemic, TB—a 64-year-old accidental vigilante with no impulse control—finds himself brewing lattes for a disintegrating society in Hilly City, where stray cats’ clean crime scenes and corporate slogans are shouted like battle cries. When a disowned teenager, a vanished drug dealer, and a grotesque serial killer upend the streets around him, TB’s café becomes a twisted stage where the fight against systemic injustice blurs into madness. Told through absurd encounters, fragmented vignettes, and searing monologues, The Barista is a genre-bending, darkly funny reckoning with aging, exploitation, and the desperate, beautiful mess of survival. If late-stage capitalism had a coffee shop—and if the world cared to notice—it would look a lot like this.
October
Nothing to see here (this month) - I'm in the writing lab.
Open Mic + Daily Hive + Saskatoon Express + Upstart and Crow: Atomweight + Fountainhead: Hate Crime + Chelene Night: Junie + THOT J BAP + Saskatchewan Sports Hall of Fame + CJFL Record Book + Saskatoon Sports Hall of Fame + 1978 National Champions: Saskatoon Hilltops + Marie Fairhurst Breen: Any Kind of Luck + Paulo Da Costa: Trust the Bluer ... + Nightwood Editions + Darren Groff + Cary Fagan: The Animals + Book Press Releases + More to Come ...
books ~ photos ~ food ~ comedy ~ tennis
easily the hottest site on the web
What's on Page 2
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Music Bullpen
178 Songs in Waiting
(59 x 3) +1
(59 x 3) +1
Write. Read. Sing. Dance. Be Kind.
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THIS SITE IS BEST VIEWED ON A DESKTOP OR IN WEB MODE
unconditional
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