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.