Monday, February 8, 2010

Why is the kid from Deliverance in the corner of this Coffee Shop?

I love my job. And I just have to keep repeating that phrase so I do not throw scalding-hot coffee into the face of some perv who wants to know if he can stuff a dollar into my apron. This is a coffee shop, you creeper not Lucky's House of Jugs ... please leave or I will be forced to burn you.

As stated previously, I hold the coveted position of a barista, which in layman's terms means coffee bitch. I am all-powerful, holding the key to the yuppies existence. The latte.

Normally that would be all well and good, but I work in a special shop, and yes I do mean that kind of special. We wear helmets special. We eat paste special. You know, Sarah Palin special.

I say this because the the location of my store is someplace one would not expect a purveyor of the $5 latte to be placed ... that would be the sticks, in front of a Wal-Mart. Yes, it's as ridiculous as it sounds.

Most people hate our sheer existence in their town. We are everything they hate, which is fine, even understandable. But what kills me is that while hating us, they come, order their drinks, and let us know how much they hate us.

"Ohhh, this better be the best damn cup of coffee I've ever had since I just had to fork over my kids college tuitions to pay for it."

To which I want to respond, Come on, I know you weren't planning on sending your children to college.

But, really the complaints about the price is not that bad, compared to the personal assualts.

Whispers to friend:"This is why I'm making my son take AP classes so he doesn't end up pouring coffee for a living."

To which I want to respond, You bitchface whore, I'm not REALLY a barista. I'm an Journalism student who will soon be graduating with honors. I swear this is not my life, they just give me health insurance.

However, I've realizes that it doesn't matter because I will never say anything I want to say. I will never ask some people if their parents were brother and sister. I will never tell the pushy men that there's not enough daddy issues in the world to make me sleep with them. Or, if any of them know, that I could do any number of disgusting things to the product they are about to ingest. But like I said, those things don't get said. I just smile and deal.

And then, create a blog, so I can share all my stories. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll eventually lose faith in humanity, as I give you insight into my life as woman, a college student and most importantly a barista. Dammit.

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