My Life as a Barista: A Photo Album

Sometimes at work people order things like this.

Or this.

And I'm like.

But they don't care. I'm sure I've played more part in people getting

 Type 2 Diabetes than every ridiculous Pinterest dessert ever made.

Speaking of Pinterest. There is no mother fucking Starbucks Secret Menu. I'm not

 saying I work for Starbucks (ignore above cups), but if I did I'd be ready

 to castrate the next person who came in asking for a

 "Bleeding Zebra" or "a one-eyed Asian."

Okay, so not everyone is bad. But for every ray of sunshine, there is some dude

 missing at least 4 teeth expressing his discontent for the word "macchiato." He

 will then proceed to explain that he's "not a homosexual and therefore

 cannot use the word espresso." True Story.

This usually leaves me feeling like this.

Or this.

But then I remember it could be worse. I could be doing this. 

Or this.

Eww. Thank God, I'm not doing that.

Plus, sometimes my fellow baristas leave little surprises. Like Bon Jovi's head

 popping out from my drive-thru camera.

And it's like he's reminding me that I'm halfway there. Whoooaa, living on a prayer. So who am I to argue with Bon Jovi and his glorious hair? And that

 makes me feel better about being a barista.

Well, kinda.