HOT

Wow... thanks heat wave! It's been so hot recently, I don't even have the energy to bitch and moan about bad tips, messy customers, new people, and shitty old people. Let these few excerpts from work give you an idea:
Friday: 5 to go sandwiches with salad and pickles. Total: $37.00 Tip: ZERO
Saturday: 6 drinks, 7 pastries, 2 sandwiches, NO TIP.
Sunday: "What is this, a fucking zoo!" (as I pick up three dismantled NY Times which have been spread around the entire left side of the cafe, as well as napkins littering the floor.)
Monday: 5 drinks, 6 pastries, 3 kids, $0.25 tip.... but they cleaned up after them selves.. THANK YOU!

Tuesday and Wednesday, the hottest days of the week I had off, thank God. Those days, I spent jumping fromone airconditioned store to the next, and then an entire day at the beach with my favorite person in the entire world, Gabriel Rodriguez, aka sexiest boyfriend ever. I would say that day was my saving grace, since I was about to go AWOL at work and seriously tell customers just how rude they were being. But, as always, my love can see beyond the heatsoaked now and center me in reality. Where I run on emotion, he runs on logic, which means perfect balance of conversation at a day at the beach. Obviously I needed this detox day because the heat was poisoning my brain.

Yesterday (Thursday) consisted mostly of a.) sweating it out at work and b.) movie theaters.
I watched four movies yesterday. Two at the theater, two at home.. wait two and 1/2 at home...
Anyway, needless to say the heat has been affecting all of us. Some mentally, some physically, mostly both for me. But today is so nice out, maybe I can have another refreshing day at the beach tomorrow, after I work. We will see!

The Other One

A few days ago, I decided to visit another neighborhood coffee shop. This place, about 6 blocks from my house, has been highly reviewed in local bakery/coffee publications, and one of the baristas who works there came into my coffee shop the other day telling us about their delicious breakfast sandwiches, and suggested we visit sometime. So I did.

As I walked in, I noticed how much smaller the “bar” was then ours, but the menu was substantially larger. The inside café seating was slightly smaller than our place, but they make up for it by having an awesome “patio” which is basically a revamped parking lot with picnic tables shaded with giant white umbrellas, and a few potted plants and trees strewn about to make it look like a little cement garden. Very effective.
Their hand written menu was slightly cluttered, but at least all the prices and options were visible to the customer. In my opinion the prices where a bit weird ($2.10 for an Americano?) but I guess I am just used to our pricing system of everything on the quarter. I ordered my drink/ breakfast sandwich, and waited for my name to be called…

It was anti-climatic at best.

People say their coffee is so much better than ours, but, we use the same beans and my drink tastes the same weather I make it, a co-worker makes it, or this other place makes it. The breakfast sandwich was fine- an over medium egg with cheddar on homemade “muffin” bread- but nothing to write home about. The main thing about their place that I liked was their outdoor area. The picnic tables and umbrellas were inviting, as well as the various potted plants. Although there was a small amount of attitude emanating from ex-customers, I might just go back and try something else.

Straws

It amazes me how unobservant people are; either unobservant or just completely ignorant to the way a normal society functions. I mean, what possesses someone to have a cold drink and leave their sucked on straw in the dirty cup when they put their dishes in the dish bin. Is there not a trash can less that a foot away from the very place they are depositing their dirty dishes? Is it so hard to clean up after your self that you think someone else wants to touch your used napkins and straws? These are the people I have to deal with every day. People who are so lazy and out of touch with the common world that they leave their trash out on tables and stuck to dishes when there are clearly labeled areas for their said trash. Did these people all have maids when they were growing up? Do they even know how to clear a table? The thing is that I don’t work in a restaurant. I work in a coffee shop. If this were a restaurant you would be paying more, and not tipping someone else to do that job for you. This is a self-serve café, and if you can’t act like a developed human being and throw your own trash away, you should just stay at home and wallow in your own filth and leave the world to responsible, cleanly people.

Now that those thoughts are off my chest….

Morning Latte

It’s Monday for me too
I also had a long weekend
a hangover
or break up
and need a triple, no, a quad shot
in my usual latte
I too need that friendly smile

But, I have to stay here
Behind the counter
And hear all your stories
everyone else
more important than me.
You get to leave
get on with your day
With a triple
quad
mocha or latte
But the barista stays here,
That’s me.

Welcome

"And what do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a Barista."

"... a what?"


Barista. The unknown titles bestowed on a plethora of Portland 20-somethings, that many 40-somethings know nothing about, and yet... these 40-somethings owe their very caffeinated existence to us.
What is a barista? A barista is your best friend. Your neighbor. Your ally and secret lover. Your dream girl and your perfect nightmare... We control your vertical and horizontal. Please us, and be pleased. Cross us, and watch out. We have the power to turn your day into sunshine, or rain. We make your coffee perfect, every time. Even when you complain.

According to the "widely respected" online dictionary Wikipedia, the word barista is derived from the Italian work for bartender. One may be called a "bariste" (feminine derivation) or "baristi" (male/ mixed sex derivation). Because English translations are, of course, always much better than the original language/ meaning or any word, "barista" has become the regular title of any man or woman working in a coffee house, or "cafe" as the non-American people would say (TIC;).
Now, also according to Wikipedia:
"Within certain circles, (the word barista) is expanding to include what might be called a "coffee sommelier" — a professional who is highly skilled in coffee preparation with a comprehensive understanding of coffee, coffee blends, espresso, quality, coffee varieties, roast degree, espresso equipment and maintenance."
This is especially true in Portland, where specialty coffee shops are abundant, and the only way to corner the market is to have the most informed and well-trained employees/owners around. The name barista is also the title of a very special, special coffee shop in NW Portland, owned by Barista Champion Billy... something... (I mean, none of my customers know my last name, sometimes not even my first name...) Suffice to say, a barista is your morning/afternoon experience... and we demand RESPECT! (I'm sorry, I yelled... but it's true)

As I said before, we are your best friend or your worst nightmare. At a whim, I can decide to give you decaf... and then where will you be? Pissed of and unable to work in your 4x4 cubicle while your boss is saying "Actually, I need those reports from the week after/before the ones you already turned in.. so... yeah".
or
"Here's the deal, Marcy, your just not performing up to the standards of Kibblescrub Productions... so I am going to have to ask you to come in on Saturday to make up for your malfeasance during the past three weeks."
and all the time you are wondering: Why the Hell do I have this raging headache and can't seem to control my bodily functions?
Answer: You didn't tip me/ gave me hella attitude on your way to work.
Solution: Don't do it again.

Look, I get it. It's Monday/Tuesday/Friday/any day of the week you use as an excuse, and you had a tough night... not getting laid, kids yelling at you, your wife found out about your mistress... your boyfriend went to Silverado and ignored you... your other boyfriend found out about your wife... your significant other made pork for dinner last night, which you hate.... I get it. You need your coffee/ a swift kick in the ass. But! did you ever stop to think that maybe... it's Monday for me too? That maybe I had a fight with my boy/girl friend? That I only got laid twice yesterday? That, maybe, you're not the only one who exists in this world? That maybe I want someone to ask how I am doing today, and make me a fucking latte?
No? That never crossed your mind?

Well, maybe it should.