Make Eye Contact Great Again
By Ava Allen, Digital Production Assistant and Azzie’s Barista
Illustration by Ava Allen
A lot of you Obies are Azzie’s thieves. To combat this, Azzie’s has implemented a new system of placing orders with AVI Grab-N-Go items on a separate shelf, where you must then ask a barista to retrieve it for you. The first few days of this new arrangement were truly eye-opening. Despite the numerous signs instructing customers what to do, I saw countless people look for their order, not find it, and then walk away, never to return. When I accepted that most people weren’t going to approach the counter, I begrudgingly began addressing them first. Over and over again, I was met with this deer-in-the-headlights look: The Gen Z Stare. Some people don’t believe in this phenomenon, but those people are probably not service workers on this campus.
The Gen Z Stare is real, but it’s a bit more complex than Gen Z deniers or Boomer believers think. The Boomer definition seems to be connected to their fear of the rising “I-don’t-owe-you” culture. They think Gen-Zers are shedding longstanding social rules and replacing them with a culture of selfishness. Don’t get me wrong, that is somewhat true. Gen Z has certainly eroded the tradition of being made silently and non-confrontationally uncomfortable by the words and actions of others. At the same time, I regularly hear my peers complain about the inconvenience of helping friends and strangers. The balance between being a selfless person and a pushover is certainly off, thus affecting the formula of social interactions.
The Stare is a symptom of increasing digitization and online-based exchanges, and it’s not inherently rude or dismissive. In my three semesters of employment at Azariah’s Café, I have only experienced mobile ordering, and I am a perpetual victim of the Gen Z Stare. Fourth-year baristas talk about the good old days of in-person ordering, like your grandpa talks about gas being 10 cents. There is a particular sense of joy in looking someone in the eye when taking their order—a brief moment of connection. Having this stripped away from my profession has opened my glazed-over eyes to how important small actions build up our self-confidence. Oberlin’s decision to “evolve” Azzie’s to operate solely on mobile ordering has significantly lessened customer-employee interactions, and it has decreased the quality of those interactions, too. It harms the customer and the barista—both are suffering from atrophied social skills. In my experience, customers seem uneasy asking for the simplest thing, like they are afraid of inconveniencing me. I never judge this, however, because I do the same exact thing.
You may be aware of your own staring, or maybe you think you are one of the rare socially apt Zoomer customers, but trust and believe that I, and many of my fellow coworkers, experience The Stare from you every day. Don’t be afraid—we want to help you.
Every barista has their own approach to handling The Stare. There’s actually an odd amount of body language reading on our part. In just a few seconds, we can tell that you’re confused or can’t find your order. The Stare can border on terrified, and in these situations some baristas choose to approach a petrified-looking customer first, but whether it’s to get the exchange over with faster or out of pure empathy is subjective. In discussing this topic, one of my coworkers said that she feels compassionate because she recognizes her own Stare when she’s confused about an establishment’s ordering system. I know Azzie’s is weird for unfamiliar customers, especially if you—God forbid—get a Grab-N-Go item with your drink. Other baristas approach first because someone staring at you for three minutes straight is extremely uncomfortable. Who would’ve thought? Sometimes, the outcome of the barista-led approach is a pleasant snap into consciousness. The Stare turns into a “Hi! Can I get [blank]? Thank you!” Then, we both move on, slightly better, I think, from the interaction. Other times, The Stare retains its iron grip on the customer's brain, and creates a wall that blocks any understanding. People often freeze up, seemingly surprised that a barista would approach them when they clearly need help with something concerning their order.
If the customer seems confused but not afraid, other approaches range from indifference to challenge. A barista may just wait until the customer verbally catches their attention. As a Midwesterner who prides herself on politeness, I tend to take this route. Staring is not a polite way to get someone’s attention, and the ability to ask for what you want is a simple yet crucial skill. Other baristas make the whole thing into a sort of internal guessing game: How long will that person stand there before speaking up? A coworker told me that she wants to push these shy customers towards self-confidence. Azzie’s is the perfect place for this. We all know that the whole setup is borderline absurd, so the stakes are low. Don’t forget that we are your peers, too, and it’s our job to help you.
It is not my goal to make you hyper-aware of how Azzie’s baristas perceive you, or give you permission to snap your fingers at service workers. It is simply to try to make you understand how it looks from the other side of the counter and maybe remind you to say “thank you” sometimes. Don’t allow the Oberlin overlords to use mobile ordering to tear us apart. We, too, wish Azzie’s could return to its former glory of long lines and order number shouting, and maybe one day it will. But for now, please, I urge you to flex those social skill muscles, look me in the eye, and speak up for yourself.
