When Starbucks Closed My Store

— And Why It Cost More Than They Know

Sometimes I need perspective before I write—
Especially when I’m angry.

It’s not that I don’t want to respond immediately. I do.
The urge to fire off a sharp reply or take swift action is very real.

But I’ve learned—reaction is not leadership.

When I react from anger, it rarely ends well.
I get a fleeting hit of “finally said it,” and then a wave of regret crashes over me like a tsunami.

So now, I wait.

A Quiet Notice. A Loud Message.

About a month ago, I saw a small, quiet notice in the news:
My local Starbucks was closing.

The language was clinical—“store realignment.”
Like a memo written by someone who’s never had to explain a breakup to a friend.

I felt… unexpectedly gutted.

I’m sure some algorithm made the decision.
A line on a spreadsheet probably turned red, triggering a cascade of automated approvals, all far away from the people it would actually affect.

And in my case? It landed like a hammer on glass.

This Wasn’t Just a Store

I’ve been to Starbucks all over the world.
There’s comfort in the familiar when you’re far from home.

But this Starbucks—my Starbucks—was different.

The manager was exceptional.
She wasn’t above the team; she was with them.
You could feel it the moment you walked in.

The baristas knew names, asked about your kids, followed up on vacations.
Retirees gathered to solve the world’s problems over decaf.
Couples paused for connection.
Families came together between errands.
Some folks had their tables like rituals passed down.

This wasn’t just a coffee shop.
It was a place.

And then, just like that, it was gone.

No Goodbye, No Note, Just... Closed

The doors closed with barely a few days’ notice.
No farewell. No thank you. No moment to say goodbye.

I was a regular. I used the app.
They knew my name, my preferences. My habits.

Did I get an email?

Nothing.

I later read that “customers were notified.”
Not this one.

But honestly? That’s not even the point.

The Promise Was Personal

Starbucks built its empire on community.
On belonging.
They told us we mattered.
They invited us in.

And then they disappeared.

People think business is about money.
And sure, money matters.
But I’ve learned—often the hard way—the true engine of business is trust.
And trust runs on promises.

When companies make changes—when they pivot or “optimize”—they forget who was sitting in the room when they made the original promise.

If you invite someone into your house, you don’t just slam the door shut one day and walk away.

What You Don’t See Still Costs You

Now, if you walk past the store, you’ll see brown paper taped to the windows.
The sign is gone.

But on the door?
A petition.

A final act of protest by those who felt something had been taken from them.

This isn’t just about coffee.
This is about what happens when leaders stop thinking like people and start thinking like spreadsheets.

Somewhere in a boardroom, this was labeled “necessary.”
And I get it. I’ve been in that room.
I’ve made those calls.
I’ve rationalized them too.

But if we’re not deeply considering the relational cost—if we’re not even acknowledging it—
we’ve lost the plot.

The Blind Spot of Leadership

This story isn’t unique.
Every day, some business decides that relationships are expendable.

That communities are collateral damage.
That if it doesn’t show up in the quarterly report, it doesn’t matter.

But it does.

Because if we keep breaking promises, why should anyone trust us?

We’re already living in a time when trust in institutions is crumbling—
Healthcare. Finance. Retail. Government.

We wonder why people are angry.
Why they disengage.
Why they don’t believe us anymore.

Maybe it’s because they’ve been left standing at the curb too many times.

The Real Cost of a Closed Door

There are still leaders who get it.

Who understand that relationships aren’t a line item.
That keeping your word isn’t a luxury—it’s the whole game.
That it’s not about having customers. It’s about belonging to the people you serve.

Last week, while driving with my wife, I realized something:

I hadn’t visited any other Starbucks in over a month.
The habit was broken.
The bond had frayed.

I know I’m just one person.

But I also know this:

What leadership often overlooks is the cost you can’t see.

And in this case,
I think the cost of closing that store was far greater than Starbucks leadership ever imagined.

What Do You Think?

Have you experienced something like this—where a company made a decision that ignored its promises?

I’d love to hear your story.

And if you found this reflection meaningful, consider sharing it with someone who believes leadership still has the power to build trust—not just extract value.

Let’s not keep pretending these decisions don’t matter.

They do.

And you’re not crazy for caring.