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19Mar/1314

Costa Coffee advert

Call me caffeine-crazed, but I've never seen a chain coffee-shop functionary - let's be honest they only call them baristas to make the minimum wage more appealing - hand over a coffee with anything more than a hassled, dead-eyed, resigned, is-this-it? shrug.

And I don't blame them. Passion is one of those words that has lost all currency these days. People are passionate about bread, about cooking, about chart-style pap music and now (apparently) coffee.

Do we have to be passionate about everything? Must we pretend that we really give a stuff about our shit jobs? Need we lie in job interviews to pretend that it's really important to us that logistics orders are completed on time? It is, because idiot CEOs, HR personnel and feckless middle managers have decided that badly-paid front-line staff have to be as chuffed to be in their shit jobs as the CEOs, HR personnel and feckless middle managers with their comfortable jobs, nice houses and Lexus CT200h.

I don't care if people swiping my tinned goods at a check-out are passionate; the call-centre functionary adopts a rictus smile of insincere politeness or the barista has a hard-on for Java Roast Gourmet Colombian Ground Coffee.

Here in Liverpool there's a coffee shop I sometimes go to. It's called Bold Street Coffee and I know the man who runs it a little bit. He's passionate about coffee, perhaps too much. And he's built a business on being passionate about coffee. His staff are passionate about coffee, there's local art on the walls, he knows all of his suppliers and does tastings to educate people about coffee. I can tell that he was irritated when I told him that I drink coffee with sugar and milk. That is a man who loves coffee.

But Costa COffee? Can you realistically, reasonably expect people to care about a job that pays badly, offers few prospects and doesn't afford them any meaningful working rights (I'm not just having a pop at Costa here, virtually all service industry jobs are similarly terrible). How are you meant to be passionate about coffee when you serve 200 cups of the damn stuff to uninterested Joes killing time with a cup of coffee that costs somewhere in the region of three quid?

I just want efficient service with a thankyou at the end of it. And if the likes of Costa and Starbucks can do something about the deep well of emptiness I feel whenever I enter one of their branded waiting rooms that would be nice too.

But this advert? Fuck off and stop lying to our faces, Costa.

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  • Neal Brodsky

    You know, I don’t really mind this advert as much as some of the shite that’s been rolled out recently. There’s something about the look on that goofy guy’s face that tells me he knows he’s full of it. I can deal with that.

  • Neal Brodsky

    You know, I don’t really mind this advert as much as some of the shite that’s been rolled out recently. There’s something about the look on that goofy guy’s face that tells me he knows he’s full of it. I can deal with that.

  • Lefty Bagpuss

    It would be funny if at the end of this advert some big fat bloke, fresh from a few massive curries, goes up to each of these heads and says “I hate coffee, you twats”! Then proceeds to do some truly disgusting turds on each of Satan’s little corporate cock-suckers. Now that would be an advert worth watching!

  • Lefty Bagpuss

    It would be funny if at the end of this advert some big fat bloke, fresh from a few massive curries, goes up to each of these heads and says “I hate coffee, you twats”! Then proceeds to do some truly disgusting turds on each of Satan’s little corporate cock-suckers. Now that would be an advert worth watching!

  • Mark

    Is it just me or do all these dullards spinning around in rabbit shit look like they’re wanking, or just wankers?

  • Is it just me or do all these dullards spinning around in rabbit shit look like they’re wanking, or just wankers?

  • help-plz

    You absolute fucking cunt. No wonder you don’t use your real name on this blog. What sort of fucking cretin sets up a shit blog about adverts he doesn’t like. Fucking hell. Sort it out you Costa-cunt!

    • Is that the best you have? You really think you’re the first person to trot out the whole ‘you must have no life if you have a blog; you’re a cunt’ routine? You can’t even troll properly, you dozy prick.

      • Steph

        But of course, for updating this blog as often as a couple of times a month *must* take WEEKS of preparation. For hours you research, your eyes bloodshot and tired, as you furiously scan for more adverts to turn your seething rage towards. You then have to churn out enough words to put ‘War and Peace’ to shame, all in the early hours of the morning- sometimes as much as a quarter side of A4. For a fleeting second you think ‘I could really use a Costa right now’. But no. Onwards.

        You fall asleep at your desk sometime around 5am and slip into a disturbing dream about an endless stream of russian meerkats plopping out of Cara Confused’s ‘magic pocket’ whilst ‘We Buy Any Car’ techno music thumps mercilessly in the background. You awaken with a jolt at 7am.

        The day begins again.

        • It’s got worse this last year, admittedly. When will my masters let me sleep?

  • help-plz

    You absolute fucking cunt. No wonder you don’t use your real name on this blog. What sort of fucking cretin sets up a shit blog about adverts he doesn’t like. Fucking hell. Sort it out you Costa-cunt!

    • Is that the best you have? You really think you’re the first person to trot out the whole ‘you must have no life if you have a blog; you’re a cunt’ routine? You can’t even troll properly, you dozy prick.

      • Steph

        But of course, for updating this blog as often as a couple of times a month *must* take WEEKS of preparation. For hours you research, your eyes bloodshot and tired, as you furiously scan for more adverts to turn your seething rage towards. You then have to churn out enough words to put ‘War and Peace’ to shame, all in the early hours of the morning- sometimes as much as a quarter side of A4. For a fleeting second you think ‘I could really use a Costa right now’. But no. Onwards.

        You fall asleep at your desk sometime around 5am and slip into a disturbing dream about an endless stream of russian meerkats plopping out of Cara Confused’s ‘magic pocket’ whilst ‘We Buy Any Car’ techno music thumps mercilessly in the background. You awaken with a jolt at 7am.

        The day begins again.

        • It’s got worse this last year, admittedly. When will my masters let me sleep?

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