commonapp essay - please review

I literally just finished this and condensed it to exactly 500 words. It was originally 650ish words--do you think it's worth going with the extra length or keeping it at this brief length? Also, any advice would be fantastic. Thanks in advance for reading/critiquing/helping.
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The first time I heard my boss sing was strange. Normally the radio played over the speakers, echoing the musical history of my childhood. "The songs I grew up with," a coworker my age commonly remarked; the '90s soft rock and pop songs were as much hers as mine. Yet when I arrived at 6:45am, ready to serve coffee so the world could wake up while I longed for sleep, my boss' voice carried over noisy customers and coffee grinders. He hummed pleasantly while bearing a tray of donuts over workers' heads, replenishing not only pastries but passion as well. His simple contentment invigorated us like wildfire.

The sounds of a shift at Dunkin' Donuts differ from typical assumptions. Coffee brewed noisily and alarms buzzed. Often a frustrated palm slapped the sugar dispenser, begging the machine to please work today. Once, when I failed to make the dispenser function, a coworker came over and wordlessly slammed it with the heel of her palm. 'That is how you do it,' her eyes declared.

The violent strength of my coworkers and I surprised customers. We banged with irritation on the hot chocolate containers, spreading powder evenly throughout. We whacked coin rolls on the counter, chopping the paper-and-metal cylinders in half. We swept away crumbs and torn napkins at a ferocious pace, clearing the floor in minutes. While we behaved cheerily for customers, we took out anger in a gratifying bam or clang. We were pleased and angered as one; customers elicited the same responses from us. We became a family teaching each other something about human cooperation.

As one my coworkers' musical voices enticed my ears—many conversed in Portuguese, and I fought to understand through my knowledge of Spanish. Comprehension of their quick conversations grew the longer I worked. Soon those same voices addressed me animatedly, and I soaked in their accents, secretly loving the purring rumble of rolled r's. They became familiar voices, no longer the Portuguese I had imagined hostile in my first month. I learned to appreciate these fascinating people who had made a life in America.

About half the staff spoke Portuguese; the rest were English speakers, either students like myself or thirty-something women. Their voices narrated heartbreaking tales of alcoholism, divorce, and financial troubles; yet they spoke with nonchalant contentment. Though struggling they held on, reduced to selling coffee alongside seventeen-year-olds.

Before ever working at Dunkin' Donuts, I thought of the place in odors—pungent coffee, warm bagels and muffins, steamy lattes. Now, though, I identify it through sound—not quarters clinking into tip jars or cash registers ringing merrily, but workers moving in unison, their diverse voices serving, judging, and telling the stories of their lives. I think of a deep conversation with my boss about my future after giving my two-week's notice. I think of myself, promising to return next summer. I think of happiness despite hardship, and I wonder if I can live as contently as someone who serves coffee for a living.

Good evening.

"The first time I heard my boss sing was strange. Normally the radio played over the speakers, echoing the musical history of my childhood. "The songs I grew up with," a coworker my age commonly remarked; the '90s soft rock and pop songs were as much hers as mine. Yet when I arrived at 6:45am, ready to serve coffee so the world could wake up while I longed for sleep, my boss' voice carried over noisy customers and coffee grinders. He hummed pleasantly while bearing a tray of donuts over workers' heads, replenishing not only pastries but passion as well. His simple contentment invigorated us like wildfire.

The sounds of a shift at Dunkin' Donuts differ from typical assumptions. Coffee brewed noisily and alarms buzzed. Often a frustrated palm slapped the sugar dispenser, begging the machine to please work today. Once, when I failed to make the dispenser function, a coworker came over and wordlessly slammed it with the heel of her palm. "That is how you do it," her eyes declared.

The violent strength of my coworkers and I surprised customers. We banged with irritation on the hot chocolate containers, spreading powder evenly throughout. We whacked coin rolls on the counter, chopping the paper-and-metal cylinders in half. We swept away crumbs and torn napkins at a ferocious pace, clearing the floor in minutes. While we behaved cheerily for customers, we took out anger in a gratifying "bam" or "clang." We were pleased and angered as one; customers elicited the same responses from us. We became a family teaching each other something about human cooperation.

As one my coworkers' musical voices enticed my ears—many conversed in Portuguese, and I fought to understand through my knowledge of Spanish. Comprehension of their quick conversations grew the longer I worked. Soon those same voices addressed me animatedly, and I soaked in their accents, secretly loving the purring rumble of rolled "r"'s. They became familiar voices, no longer the Portuguese I had imagined hostile in my first month. I learned to appreciate these fascinating people who had made a life in America.

About half the staff spoke Portuguese; the rest were English speakers, either students like myself or thirty-something women. Their voices narrated heartbreaking tales of alcoholism, divorce, and financial troubles; yet they spoke with nonchalant contentment. Though struggling they held on, reduced to selling coffee alongside seventeen-year-olds.

Before ever working at Dunkin' Donuts, I thought of the place in odors—pungent coffee, warm bagels and muffins, steamy lattes. Now, though, I identify it through sound—not quarters clinking into tip jars or cash registers ringing merrily, but workers moving in unison, their diverse voices serving, judging, and telling the stories of their lives. I think of a deep conversation with my boss about my future after giving my two-week's notice. I think of myself, promising to return next summer. I think of happiness despite hardship, and I wonder if I can live as contently as someone who serves coffee for a living."

Excellent work! A few mechanical errors, but your content is wonderful. You are very descriptive; I think the length as it is is perfect. I enjoyed reading your essay.

Regards,
Gloria
Moderator, EssayForum.com

Thanks!

You're very welcome.

Regards,
Gloria
Moderator, EssayForum.com