There's just something about tea

"I'll have a medium coffee with room for cream," he said, and I thought, He must be a serious business man, as I filled the cup.

"I'll have a large caramel latte with two extra shots," he said, and I thought, Someone must have had a late night, as the milk frothed.

"I'll have a double espresso," he said, and I thought, I'll bet he lifts for fun, as the grinder whirred.

"I'll have an Earl Grey tea," he said, and I thought...Tea is mysterious. A man that orders tea catches your attention. 

And then I spilled hot water across my hand.

I don't actually watch the show.
I just really appreciated this.

Tidbits

I giggled a bit when I realized that this song was playing at work today:

Also, I find it a little unnerving when drive through customers greet me by name. It's true that I have just introduced myself to them, but I never expect them to reply with a, "Hello, Bonnie! I'd like--" It's alright when a regular does it, someone like Kim or Jim or Mary, because I've actually had conversations with them. But when a random stranger (that I usually can't even see) addresses me personally, I don't know how to take it.

A stunning--

This Monday morning was quite splendid, despite the fact that I was up two hours past my bed time the night before and opened at five thirty today. When we arrived at the coffee shop, everything outside was completely dark and clear, the solitary cars driving by on the street plainly visible. Within an hour, though, thick, dense fog invaded from the river, capturing all of the headlights. We couldn't see the first row of cars in the parking lot through the windows. 

But when the sun exploded above the opposing hill, the battle between the fog of predawn and the light of day began. It looked like a softer version of Sauron's, a far away orb casting its sight across the land, searching. The grey fog turned gold where the light soaked it, but remained silver-cold in the shadows. Slowly, the sun forced the two shades to meld, forming a soft mother-of-pearl color fog that clung to the grass and buildings by its fingertips, refusing to admit defeat. It hid behind cars and under trees, but in the end, the fog was vanquished and slunk back down to the cold river. 

That may have perhaps been a bit of a dramatized version of the morning, but I was stunned when the first few gleaming rays shot into my eyes. 

And speaking of stunning, I fell out of bed last night for the first time in many years. Granted, I was trying to climb down from my top bunk, but it was still a shock. This is my souvenir:

Pretty, ain't?

Rainy tidbits

I don't mind rainy days (as long as no plans have to be cancelled), so I pleased to see a persistent drizzle when I woke up early this morning. I was also pleasantly surprised to discover that my windshield wipers actually work quite fine. I thought I was going to have to replace them, so that's twenty dollars saved.

I didn't so this. It was too cold at 5:00am.

Most of the customers this morning were good sports about the dampness, pulling up close to the window and trying to stay inside their cars as much as possible. Occasionally, I wished someone, "Stay dry!" as a farewell when the sprinkle changed to a downpour. The rain made the inside of the coffee shop cozy today, as a contrast to the shop's warm smells and soft orange lights, but I wouldn't have turned down a little more driving. Driving in the rain is always soothing to me.

And I also appreciate driving in the dark. I've discovered on my many early mornings when I open or my late nights when I close that I drive slower when it's dark. Generally, I make no conscious decision to; everything just seems a tad less rushed, and sometimes I have to remind myself that I do indeed need to keep up with the speed limit.

This morning, I left my apartment a few minutes later than usual, because I often turn up to the coffee shop ten minutes before I need to be there. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; I just thought I'd take a few minutes longer getting started today. However, as I drove down the streets, I found myself missing watching the people waiting for the bus. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who has to be up and headed to work. Tomorrow, I think I'll have to go back to my original scheduling. Bus-waiters aren't exactly the same thing as regulars at the coffee shop, but I am starting to recognize some of them.

That time I worked early

People are strange, and this is what makes people watching so interesting. I went to a soccer game last night, and half the time I got distracted by the people in the stands. At work, it's quite entertaining to see who comes through. The other day, there was the guy who winked at me as he drove away from the drive through, and many people call me "Honey" when I work the drive through. Apparently I sound and look quite young. Today, some guy told me I was awesome as I handed him his drink; that probably was intended for the whole store though.

And then, of course, there's me. I often respond to the question of "How are you?" that the customer didn't actually ask; I just assumed that they would. And I mix up my words and say silly things all the time, like when I tell people to have a good day and try to send them off before I passed them their beverages. These things happen more often than I'd like to admit.

This morning, though, something happened that had never happened before. Around six thirty, a woman came to the speaker and ordered her drinks and a breakfast sandwich. She drove around to the window, and I greeted her and swiped her credit card. I turned around to take her sandwich out of the oven, and S., who was on bar at that time, said, "Wait, where did they go?"

What?

There was no car at the window anymore. She had paid, but then left. S. and I looked at each other for a moment, wondering what to do, but then we heard the Ding that signaled a car at the order speaker. Before we could say any greeting, they came right past it to the window. The woman from the previous order looked out up at me and said, "Did you see how I just drove off like that? I must really need that coffee!"

Just an ordinary day

This morning was the first time that I drank my own coffee. As one of the benefits of working at the coffee shop, I get a free pound of coffee a week. However, I haven't needed it since I started working, because my parents' house was always fully stocked. Therefore, I have been giving it away each week, sometimes to friends, sometimes to old professors. Last Friday, though, I moved out of my parents' house into an apartment with a few girls. I'm now all grown up! And this morning, I drank coffee made from this week's pound of coffee for the first time. I think I can get used to this.

I would consider buying this

At work today, I was on the espresso bar, meaning that it was my job to make all of the drinks that came through the shop. If there are lots of drinks at once and other baristas aren't busy, they usually take the cold drinks, the ice teas and blended drinks, and make them, leaving the bar barista only the espresso drinks to worry about. But at multiple times during the day, there were only three of us on the floor, one to tend to the customers inside the cafe, one to work the drive through, and one to make drinks. The line of drinks got longer and longer, and as I raced from first the espresso bar to the blenders and back again, I realized that I did not like the feeling that no matter how fast I worked, it wouldn't make a difference.

Eventually we pulled through. Several gallons of milk later, we three all looked at each other and took a breath, enjoying the silence of the drive through and the absence of waiting customers inside. I tried to calm down, because rushes and business and the awful feeling to being behind stresses me out.

And then I had a revelation: being on bar is great, but it is not perfect. As the bar barista, time seems to go fast, and I do not (usually) have to deal with difficult customers. All I have to focus on is the next drink in line. But not dealing with customers means that I am free to be annoyed every time a new car pulls up to the drive through and orders a blended drink (they seem particularly time-consuming to make. Having to interact with people limits how frustrated you can get, because above everything, you cannot show any frustration. It is much more difficult to keep a bad mood when you have to pretend that you're in a good mood for other people. If only there was a way to be on bar until I began to get angry, at which point I would switch to taking orders. It might be counter-intuitive, but I think it would work

Here's the thing about Mondays

If you have the right job, then they're really not that bad. For instance, if you're in a service position, you can focus on being friendly to everyone, because, let's face it, everyone is sympathizing with everyone else because it's Monday. Everyone has the odd feeling of being back at some place they had forgotten about while they were gone.

And, of course, it doesn't hurt to have gone to a WWII D-Day reenactment the Saturday before and still have lots to think about.

My friend B. and I drove up to Lake Erie to watch the storming of Omaha Beach; we had gone last year, and the trip had been so successful, we resolved to go again. Dressing up in as much vintage clothing as we could find, we helped to portray the home front to match the soldiers.

We met our friend E. up there. He was the one who first suggested we attend last year. Although we were able to pick him out on the beach previously, we couldn't find him in the action this year.

A group of men getting instructions. I believe they were being told that they had to follow the cadence of the skinny redhead up front. 

One of the planes the flew over the battle. The beach was rigged with tiny explosions that went off with much smoke as the planes crossed over, mimicking bombs

Running up the beach.

More soldiers.

A soldier waiting for reinforcements before storming up the hill to take the German camp.

And that was that. An excellent day.

It was like this all day

*Ding!*

Me: Good afternoon. My name is Bonnie. What can we get started for you?

Customer: Hi...um, I have one of those receipt coupons for a grande cold drink for only two dollars?

Me: Sure. What can we get for you?

Customer: Ok, well, I'd like a grande black tea with the lemonade.

Me: Ok, would you like that sweetened?

Customer: No, but I got two drinks this morning. Can I have another?

Me: Well, you need two receipts to use two coupons. Do you have two receipts?

Customer: Yes. I'd like another black tea lemonade but unsweetened.

Me: Sure. Is that everything for you?

Customer: Yeah, I think that's it.

Me: Ok, I'll have your total for you at the window.

*Customer comes around the the window*

Me: Hi, how are you today?

Customer: Here's my receipt. So it'll be about four dollars, right?

Me. Right. Do you have your second coupon?

Customer: No, I only have the one receipt, but there are two drinks on it, see?

Me: I'm sorry, but we can only do one coupon per receipt.

Customer: Oh. Ok. Well, then just give me one of the teas.

Me: Sorry about that. Would you like the sweetened or the unsweetened one?

Customer: The unsweetened.

Me: No problem. (to the barista making drinks) Don't make the sweetened tea, just the unsweetened one. (back to customer) That's $2.12.

*Money changes hands*

Me: Ok, and here's your grande black tea lemonade unsweetened.

Customer: Unsweetened? No, I wanted it sweetened.

Me: Oh, I'm sorry about that. Let me fix it for you.

*sweeten the previously requested unsweetened tea*

Me: Alright, here you go.

Customer: Thanks! You have a great day.

To everyone who uses a drive through

Please take note: we do not work at service windows because it is a good place to get picked up. Mostly, we work for the sake of working, although it's true that sometimes we work because we enjoy it. Sometimes, we like our coworkers. Sometimes, customers can really brighten up our day and make us remember that service jobs aren't as bad as their reputation.

But when you turn up your music, groove around in your car, and try to get us to dance with you, then it's a little uncomfortable, especially when you happen to be a fifty-year-old man we do not know. And calling us "Darling" won't make us want to humor you at all. It creeps us out a bit.

And while we're at it, tips are great. But unusually large tips that are specifically directed to one of us who has done nothing out of the ordinary for you make us wonder if you have an ulterior motive. Even if you are a  woman in your early thirties. Then we just don't know what to do.

Do I look like I'm in the mood?

Yes, we know we're stunning. Yes, we know we're charming. Yes, we know you customers like being always right. But, please, do not hit on us when we're working...

...unless you happen to be very very cute.

Boxes are fun

Tuesdays are very important days at the coffee shop, because our order comes on Tuesdays. Our order is our life. The truck brings everything that we need to operate, flavored syrups, chocolate and caramel sauces, cups, napkins, soaps (everything except for the milks and creams. Those come three times a week because we use so many). The supplies usually come every Tuesday between eleven and twelve, and when the truck leaves, there is a pile of some thirty or forty boxes that need to be put away.

But maybe not quite this many

Baristas S. and A. used to be the ones taking care of putting things on shelves, rotating the syrups and ingredients, and flattening boxes, but both girls left for other coffee shops a few weeks ago. For twelve weeks, I had curiously watched them tend to the shipments; most people seemed to dread the order and complain about having to take care of it. To me, though, it didn't seem any different than grocery shopping, and I told my supervisor that I'd like to give it a try. Accordingly, the next week, she assigned me the task of putting away the order. And, to even my surprise, I enjoyed it.

There was something about the challenge of fitting everything into the tiny back room of the shop that appealed to me. Things had to be condensed into small spaces, juices had to be moved around, boxes had to be placed on the very tip-tops of shelves. To me, it seemed like a puzzle, a game of trying to see how neatly I could arrange everything. I lost a round if I had to split up the vanilla syrups or put some of the mocha on a different shelf. I won if I was able to fit everything in the space available. And then there was the treat of flattening all the boxes and recycling them at the end. Finishing gave me a type of happy energy, despite the large amounts of effort the task had taken.

And this week, they let me play again! And I won even more rounds this time.

The not-so-new-girl

This girl, this one that started working at the coffee shop for the first time on April 23 of this year, was training someone today.

Although, perhaps that statement shouldn't be that impressive since it was sort of an accident.

Originally, the new guy, A., was supposed to be learning how to work the drive through this morning, and usually new baristas train only with shift supervisors. When there is a new person on the floor, we usually have two shift supervisors at the shop, one to train and one to run the shift. However, this morning, we only had one shift supervisor, and she was scheduled to working with A. Unfortunately, shift supervisors have their own duties, completely unconnected to any training. Shift supervisors that are in charge are always stationed at the front register. This gives them the freedom to see to the pastry case, the bank deposit, make any necessary calls, and solve the little problems that turn up.

What with setting up the tills and organizing the day, the shift had to choose between showing A. the ropes or doing what she, as the shift supervisor, was supposed to do. So, she assigned me the task of keeping an eye on him. And I, with all my two and a half months' worth of knowledge and a strong memory of my terrible fear of the drive through headset, took A. under my wing.

And by that, I mean, I did what other people did for me, easing him into working the window, then the order-taking, then both together. And he picked up it quite quickly. He was not afraid to ask for a little extra help, and he wasn't too proud to tell customers that he was new and thank them for their patience. I think he's well on his way to making a rocking barista, and I'd like to think that my expert training skills had something to do with it, but that might not actually be true.

Anyway, I am not even close to being the new girl anymore, and I like it.

Speaking of New Girls, I miss this show

Ooops

You know how you recognize something and comment on it to show that you recognize it...and then you realize that you were completely mistaken? I did that today.

Poor bunny

I was working the drive through, and this kid pulled up to the window. As I took his money, I recognized his light yellow and grey shirt as one that Geneva put out many years ago (I happen to have one myself, but it's something like a triple hand-me-down). The minute I handed him his change and said, "Nice shirt!" he shifted, and I realized that any word that ends in "-ell" cannot be "Geneva." I fled, hoping he wouldn't think I was flirting, but I'm not sure how well that worked out for me.

Thankfully, he drove away without trying to make more conversation. That's the beauty of the drive through. One minute they're there talking to you, and the next they have gone.

"Is this how time usually passes? ...Really...slowly?"

Usually, I would rather open at the coffee shop than work any other shift, despite the fact that means I have to be in the parking lot by 5:30am. When you get done with work by 2:00 in the afternoon, there's so much day left to read or write or hang out or do things that you need to do. Finishing working at 5:30pm or 10:00pm or even 11:30pm does not leave room for this. True, those shifts start later, so technically there is time in the morning, but it is much harder to accomplish things when you always have to be aware of the impending time. 

Also, I've found that the opening shift seems to go quicker. The first three hours fly by, and then it's time to take your ten minute break. Another hour or so, and then it's lunch for half an hour. But then--then there are hours five and six to deal with, and they just drag. I don't know what it is about the time between ten and twelve. Perhaps it's because you don't really know whether to think, "Gosh, I've already been at work for four and a half hours," or "Gosh, I only have three and a half hours left." Neither of those seem particularly encouraging.

But then twelve o'clock hits, and it's all downhill from there. Not only does business seem to pick up, people getting their lunch time coffees or getting out to do afternoon shopping, but the minutes go quicker. You look at the clock, and it's been twenty minutes since you last checked, even though you could have sworn it was only five. I guess The Doctor is right when he says that time isn't a straight line. "It's more of a big ball of wibbley-wobbley, timey-wimey...stuff" (Season 3, Episode 11, "Blink").

Watch his mouth. He actually says that.

In which I play with chalk

Doing things for the first time seems to be the norm these months since graduation, and today, I got to add another activity to the First Time List: redoing one of the menu boards. The time had come for us to change the focus from the new mild roast coffee to our special sale on our blended drinks. Since the girl who usually rewrote the boards wasn't at the shop this morning, I got to try my hand at it.

And we use chalk markers!

The copy for the board was basic information about the promotional sale, but the choice of colors was left to my own discretion. And, I confess, I tried a couple combinations and had to wash the board several times before I figured that the white, green, and pink seemed to work best together. I probably took longer on the menu board that was truly necessary, but I wanted it to be well-done. After all, if it didn't turn out well the first time I tried my hand at board writing, I most likely wouldn't get a second chance.

For all my care, though, once we hung the board back up, we saw that the writing was a touch slanted. Rather than taking the board back down and rerwiting the whole thing, we merely shifted the paper picture of the drinks beside the writint to match. It wasn't too shabby, if I say so myself.

Not on the subject of coffee

I have done the impossible: I have read, and enjoyed, Jane Eyre. I first read Charlotte Bronte's book when I was nine or ten or somewhere around there, and the crazy woman in the attic gave me nightmares for a long time. A year or two after that, I thought, "I am older and wiser. I will try to listen to the book on tape." But again, I had bad dreams. And yet, a few more years later, I thought, "I am older and wiser now. I will watch the movie." And so I watch the 2006 mini TV series of Jane Eyre...and had nightmares.

Ruth Wilson as Jane

After watching the movie, I finally learned my lesson and swore I would never again try to read, listen to, or watch Jane Eyre. For many years, I stayed faithful to the lesson I had learned.

But my college roommate loved Jane Eyre, and I could not completely brush away her opinion. Many times, she told me that I should give the book another try, and eventually, I relented, reasoning that I could put up with a few nightmares to prove to her that I should never have anything to do with the book.

However, I was not haunted by a lunatic Bertha Mason this time. Perhaps it was because I took care not to read late at night; perhaps it was because I was trying to understand why K., and many others, loved the story so much; perhaps I truly am older and wiser now. But whatever the reason, I have changed my opinion of Jane Eyre. It is a thrilling and passionate love story, not the horror tale that I have long thought it to be.

There is only one thing left to be decided: should I risk watching the movie?

The day of the crazies

Some days are weird. We had some very strange people at the coffee shop today. One lady at the drive through ordered three drinks in our smallest size, but when they were handed to her, she didn't believe that they were the same amount. Confused, she held them in her hands, comparing them. M. had to spend a little time assuring her that they all were indeed our small drinks. Eventually, she drove away, but I am not certain that she believed him.

This was her.

Another woman called in the afternoon, looking for our manager, who happened to have left work a few hours earlier. Over the phone, the lady fiercely complianed that she couldn't reach the manager, although she was blatantly ignoring the fact that she had been clearly told when the manager would be in the store. She yelled at A., the shift supervisor on duty, telling A. that the store needed to donate coffee to the woman's golf outing the next day that was scheduled for the next day. However, even managers can't ok donations, and certainly not ones on such short notice, so all A. could do was try to explain while taking the anger of the woman.

Another difficult person came later, choosing the drive through over entering the store. This was a silly choice on her part, because drive throughs are for people who do not want to linger, who want to get done as soon as they can. This woman did not care about accomplishing anything quickly; she simply didn't want to hoist herself out of her car. She commenced to vicariously shop our retail cups and tumblers from her car by forcing M. to walk out into the cafe and read her various prices. Once she finally chose our largest cold cup, she ordered a hot coffee/chocolate drink, but she asked for it to be put in her new cup. M. explained that she had chosen a cold cup and that putting hot liquids in it would damage it. "Oh, so, you probably just answered this question, but  I couldn't put it in the microwave?" queried the woman through the speaker. Carefully, M. replied that no, she shouldn't try that.

Once she finally understood, the woman agreed to have the coffee and chocolate concoction be made cold instead. We thought things were finished after M. gave her her total and told her to drive around to the window. No such luck. When she reached the opening, she determinedly said that she wanted each purchase wrung separately for some reason that was unknown to us. And lastly, once her drink and newly purchased cup were passed out the window, she handed it back, demanding that S. put more milk into the drink to fill it the whole way to the top, ignoring the facts that the cup was made for a bigger sized drink and that she had only paid for a medium. S. complied despite the knowledge that the proportions in the drink were now skewed, though, because the customer is always right.

Towards the end of the night, A. remarked, "Everything's weird today. It's like everyone is walking around with a knife in their back and wincing as they move. It's just a strange day." M., S., and I agreed.

This isn't really about Emily Blunt

Suddenly, I am not the newest barista at the coffee shop. A new partner just started this week, which is a good thing, since two girls are leaving in July and another one in August. There are several pairs of shoes that will need to be filled soon, and it will take a long time and many hours of practice before any sets of feet will actually fit well. Back to the subject at hand, she started on Monday at ten o'clock in the morning, and from the moment she walked in and said that she was there to start her first day, I thought she looked like a taller, thinner-face, more nervous version of Emily Blunt. I'm leaning toward the idea that it's the shape of M.'s mouth and nose that remind me of said famous actress, but I'm not quite sure.

She doesn't know what to say to that.

M. seems like she will do well at the coffee shop, because everyone else, I'm sure, was nervous and a little in the way when they started, but we all figured it out eventually. I now know what all of the other baristas must have seen when I began. I'm sure that I looked just as out-of-place only seven weeks ago, and now look at me. I have overcome my terror of the drive through, I can make a delicious latte, and I'm an accomplished cleaner, although that may not be a credit to the coffee shop.

When my store manager told me early Monday morning that I wasn't going to be the "new" barista anymore, I smiled and replied, "That's good, because I now know everything." I've never heard her laugh so hard.

It's inspiring work

It seems that in every workplace, there is that one employee who puts all the others to shame with his or her work ethic. When I worked at the sandwich shop last summer, I was most impressed by Debbie, a middle-aged woman who only worked weekday nights. She was diligent and polite and a quick worker, and we had many pleasant conversations. Many of the kids I worked with also liked her and looked up to her.

A Cappuccino! Because I didn't know what other picture to use

The coffee shop where I work now is very different from the sandwich shop. People who work there are not just working for a summer, and they really care about the job and the customers. While they may sometimes take a few minutes to pause and chat with customers or each other, no one slacks off. At the sub place, there were the employees that you did not want to get stuck working with because you would end up doing your assigned work and at least half of theirs as well. 

It is not so at the coffee shop. Everyone does what they need to, and I have seen many times how people are more than happy to help others with what needs to be done. In fact, this afternoon, I noticed how well another partner was working, and I wondered if she could be the shop's Debbie, the hard worker who would inspire me. The more I thought, though, the more I realized that other partners were similarly inspiring. Not all, but many, and even the ones that weren't were willing workers. 

Someday, I hope to be a worker that someone looks at and is inspired by. 

Communication over coffee

One of the most interesting things about work is the customers. Most people come just for coffee, some come to hang out with other people, but a lot are regulars who get the same thing and who know all the baristas. I'm still trying to learn all of the regulars' names; there are a lot of them. Some of my favorite customers, though, are not the people who come every day but the ones who show up once and provide a bit of entertainment. For instance, there are the ones who come through the drive through and make funny faces when ordering (they don't know that we can see them). Sometimes people ask silly questions, like if the oatmeal or the sausage sandwich has more calories. Something funny is always guaranteed to happen.

Wait for it...

Once, a lady came through the drive through while talking on her cell phone. I'm never quite sure whether to be annoyed when people do this or not. I usually try to find things to chat about with people, whether it is the dog they have in their lap, our new drink, or even the weather, but when they are already having a conversation, then even politely asking them how they are feel like an intrusion. At least this lady wasn't one of the annoying ones who hold up the line to finish her conversation. Instead, she handed me her card, and, as I took it, she held the phone away from her head and said, "And I'd like to pay for the car behind me, too."

I smiled, wondering if this would turn out to be another of those Pay-it-forward things, where the whole line of cars would end up paying for the order of the stranger behind them. After swiping her card, handing her her drinks, and wishing her a good day, I excitedly waited for the next car to pull up. When it did, I explained to the woman, who was also on her phone, that her bill had already been taken care of. I thought she would exclaim how nice that was or ask if I knew why or say that she would then cover the cost of the next set of drinks. What I did not expect was for her to sit back exasperated and say into her phone, "I hate you, Misty. Stop doing that."

Apparently, those two women were friends and the way they got coffee was by going to the drive through in separate cars while talking to each other on their phones. My hope of an afternoon of watching strangers perform a kindness for others was immediately shattered and replaced by a touch of disillusionment that two friends would not even get out of their cars for a few minutes to enter a coffee shop together. But perhaps they had just been shopping at the nearby mall and the coffee run was spur of the moment. At least these kinds of "getting coffee" with someone are not the majority.

How coffee shops are like computer games

When I was much younger, I used to play a computer game called Age of Wonders. It's a turn-based strategy game that I very much enjoyed, even to the point of playing it several different times in order to follow different paths and find out what the different outcomes would be. (I would not be adverse to playing it again, in fact.) For probably a full year, it was the only computer game I played. I realized one day that I was spending too much time in the land of elves and orcs and goblins, because I dreamed of the game during the night. In my sleep, I played and beat the difficult level that I had been struggling on. Usually, when something starts to show up in your dreams, you know it's time to cut back.

Thumbs up if you can name the characters

Unluckily for me, I dream of the coffee shop, and I have been dreaming of it for a while. Said dreams are not usually bad; I'm not completely lost in a sea of coffee or being torn apart by angry customers or anything horrible like that. No, the night fantasies only include me working, which, since I do enough of that during the day, makes me not a huge fan of these dreams.

Last week, though, I was lying in bed trying to sleep, but I couldn't. I generally have a lot of trouble sleeping for various reasons, and other light sleepers will sympathize. Often when I share a room with someone, I sleep with earplugs to cut down on noises that might disturb me, and this night I was visiting my best friend. Because she's an early riser, I knew I would need all the help I could get to sleep well.

However, I dreamed that I couldn't sleep because I needed my earplugs to sleep. However, every time I got them settled in my ears, I was forced to take them out again, because I had to answer the ding of the coffee shop drive through. Frustrated almost to tears, I did not know what to do, because I needed to sleep, but I knew that the customers coming through the drive through needed to be helped, and I was the person tasked with manning the drive through. I don't remember if I actually took my earplugs out or if that also was part of the dream, but eventually I ended up sleeping.

When I woke the next morning, though, I was confronted with a horrible truth. I have been working too much. Oh dear.

That time that things went well

Today was the first day that I walked into work and really felt like I could handle it. I knew how things worked, and I knew what I was supposed to be doing. Sure, there were a few times I had to ask questions, and one customer could tell that I was still somewhat new, but I count today a success. I didn't give anyone the wrong drink, I didn't drop anything big or spill milk, and I don't even remember getting orders wrong. Perhaps today was the shift, the time when I start being helpful at work, rather than a hindrance. I could be ok with this.

Two thumbs up to today!

Now I only have to hope I haven't jinxed it for tomorrow.

Cleaning is harder than you think

I wonder if I will ever reach the point of Knowing. I "completed" my barista training on Tuesday this week, so on Wednesday, I was on the clock and official. Finishing training, though, seems to mostly mean that I don't have someone completely devoted to watching over me anymore. I, along with my trainer, am no longer extras on the floor. Instead, I have a job to do, and if I don't do it right, life gets really hard for the other baristas working with me. Everyone has been great, of course. At no time have they put pressure on me or shown any frustrations with my cluelessness. Not one person has rolled their eyes at a question or neglected to help when I needed a hand or an answer.

Last night was my first time staying at the shop past eight o'clock. As pre-closer, my job for hours was cleaning. Cleaning the shelves and mats and syrup pumps and dishes and pitchers and utensils. It wouldn't have been uncomfortable tune if I have known how everything worked and where cleaned tools went. I really don't mind cleaning; rarely do pots and plates tell you that you're washing them wrong.

At least mopping is something you don't need to be trained at.

Not that coworkers K., T., or A. told me I was messing up either; they cheerfully picked up the slack. K. offered to wash the floor mats for me, and T. helped show me what needed to be washed. Still, I like to be able to pull my own weight, but lack of experience makes this hard.

The sandwich place where I worked last summer had one day of training, and then I got thrown out into the fray. By the end of the week, though, I was grilling and building subs with the best of them. When I was hired at the coffee shop, on the other hand, my manager told me straight up that it usually takes new people three months to feel completely comfortable. There are a lot of questions I have to fit into three months, then.

The day I got a lunch break

Today was a day of firsts at my new job: I had my first full shift, I took my first lunch break, and I worked the drive through, and only one of those activities was terrifying. I do not have the greatest hearing (you can get testimonials from my roommate), and half of the drive-through communication is through a headset. What with car engines running and beeps from timers and the music coming through the speakers, not to mention all the grinding of coffee, steaming of milk, and blending of ice (have I mentioned coffee shops are loud places?), it's a challenge for anyone to focus on only one stream of sound.

It even looks like a torture device

The true adventure, though, comes when there is a car at the window with someone handing you money and expecting you to get the change right and another car at the menu board with someone placing an order and expecting you to get their customization right. While jumping between each conversation, you have to remember to switch on and off your headset (one time, a coworker had to reach over and turn mine off for me. I was accidentally talking over her with a different customer). Throw into the mix a knowledge of the register and beverages that is only rudimentary at best, and you can understand why I was panting by my break.

During one of the brief calm moments, though, coworker J. told me that drive through is her favorite position, and, as someone who has achieved the level of Coffee Master, she is someone to be listened to. When asked to explain, she said that she appreciates the way the drive through allows her to focus solely and really connect with one customer at a time. According to her, the drive through is its own, separate, little world.

By the end of the day, I understood what she meant to a degree. Each and every customer past my window, and there was usually a little space of time between when I handed back their change and when their drinks were ready. These few minutes provided a wonderful time to chat with people about the thunderstorm that struck around four in the afternoon, the new blended drinks and how wonderful they are, or ask about the dog that the customer had in his or her lap, passenger seat, or back seat (it's a little surprising how many people drive around with dogs in their cars). Occasionally, someone who had ordered sharply and firmly at the microphone turned out to be cheerful and friendly to my face, and most appreciated a little personal interest.

When I took my headset off for the last time today, I felt that I had accomplished something besides improving my register-navigation skills and managing to decipher words through static.

Alas, I forgot! (A companion to The Hunger Games)

One thing that I forgot to include in my previous discussion of The Hunger Games was how much I appreciated the handheld cameras. For most of the intense, emotional, and action scenes, the view is jerky and blurred, much like it would be in real life. The method of photography allows viewers to see the story as Katniss must have, confusing and terrifying. It brings across the adrenaline and fear.

Rock on.

I don't think the spoilers are too bad...

I finally watched The Hunger Games tonight. My roommate read the book last year for a class, enjoyed it, and saw the movie when it came out. Based off of K.'s recommendation, I decided that I should give it a try, although I was determined to wait to see the film until after I read the book. I picked up a copy of The Hunger Games in the campus bookstore on a whim, and six days later, I had purchased and finished all three books. Tonight was the soonest my friend R., who had also been waiting to read the book, and I could manage to go see it.

She literally was shaking in the film

Verdict: Good movie. They stayed true to the book without letting affection for it clutter a movie with great potential. For instance, a part of the story centers around the character of Katniss desperately seeking water. In the movie, said near-fatal search didn't appear at all except for a brief comment by her mentor. "Get to high ground and find water." She found a stream within seconds of the beginning of the game. However, the story as told in a two-hour film was complete without it. That part would probably only have distracted and detracted from the film.

Some may say the film was slow, but I appreciated the fact that it built. All death and explosion is not for me. The terror and horror of the arena would not have been as affecting without the background and preparation. The climactic moment may have been a touch quick and could have been a bit more emotional, but I thought it went well. Jennifer Lawrence was terrific as a terrified but collected heroine, and she did well communicating with the audience. The book is told entirely from Katniss' perspective and from her internal dialogue with herself; communicating that on-screen is difficult without any voice-overs, and Lawrence should be commended. Her supporting actors kept up for the most part. It wasn't Liam Hemsworth or Josh Hutcherson's faults that their characters did not feature as much.

The largest problems for me came from the unbelievableness of the "mutts;" the animation just did not convince me. Also, the romantic tension between Katniss and Peeta (which is very important in all of The Hunger Games trilogy) did not come out as much as I was expecting. It is a key feature of the continuing story, but I suppose that is always something they can enlarge in sequels. 

Greatest things I appreciated: Donald Sutherland playing the bad guy and the film's emphasis on the politics in Panem. After I finished the first book, I was worried that the story would continue in a love-triangle/Twilight kind of way; I saw much more potential and greatness in the politics of the story. Thank goodness my fears were not realized. I was pleased to see that the film's director, producers, and screen-writers also understood where the importance of the story lay. I am looking forward to the next movies in the story; perhaps I'll reread the books in the meantime. It shouldn't take too long. 

A cup and a screech to go, please

Have you ever noticed that when you go into a coffee shop, your ears are assaulted with noise? I have never quite understood why people go to such places to get homework done; how in the world do they concentrate? And as if the loud-voiced and -laughed customers aren't bad enough, there is usually some ill-trained barista making grinding and screeching and ripping noises behind the counter. People should put noise warning signs on coffee shop entrance doors.

Poor, deafened turtle

But then, today I learned that the noises from behind the counter aren't (usually) the results of poor training. In fact, the grinding noise is (obviously) from the coffee being ground. But they don't grind it up front to be annoying; instead, it's to keep the coffee as fresh as possible. (Coffee apparently has a remarkably short life. Did you know that a shot of espresso goes bad after ten seconds unless it is mixed with something? No wonder baristas have to do so much grinding.) And the screeching and ripping sounds actually are a sign that the milk is being aerated correctly. The steamer wand is placed in the bottom of the pitcher of milk and activated, then raised to just under the surface of the liquid for several seconds. This technique results in loud noises and perfect foam, if steamed long enough, which is something I have yet to accomplish.

And, go figure, many coffee shops try purposefully to create environments for people to chat and catch up and laugh with each other. That's why there are more than one chairs at the tables. I suppose if coffee shops were really for doing work, they would simply set up a classroom where everyone drank coffee.

Oh, the glory of learning things while ingesting caffeine!

The start of Emile's education

I love the movie Ratatouille, the one where the rat in Paris becomes a gourmet chef. It's a story of overcoming difficulties and pursuing dreams and everything like that. I love seeing the brilliance of the animation and the determination of Remy and the budding romance between Linguini and Colette. Out of all the characters in the film, though, the one that I am probably most like is Remy's brother Emile, who does not understand the things that Remy tries to show him.

This is Emile

There is this one scene where Remy attempts to educate Emile, first telling him to try a bit of cheese, then a section of berry, and to finally combine them. Remy exclaims, "That's it! Now, imagine every great taste in the world being combined in infinite combinations, tastes that no one has tried yet, discoveries to be made!" Emile replies, "I think...I think...You lost me."


That's me when it comes to combining food and drink. I think that red wine goes with red meat because the colors complement each other and that orange juice is for breakfast because it matches the rising sun. And, to my uneducated tongue, coffee is coffee and all of it needs sugar to be drinkable every morning.


Today, though, I discovered something incredible; all coffee is not alike. I began training for my new job as a barista this morning, and I am not going to just be serving coffee. No, I get to learn about it and even try the different kinds. During the first session, for example, I tasted five different kinds of coffee from different regions, in different roasts, and with different flavors.


And, wonder of wonders, I was able to tell some of the differences! After the ideas of smell, body, acidity, and flavor were explained to me, of course, but it was shocking all the same to realize that perhaps my tongue has potential to be educated after all. And, just to blow my mind, they showed me how different foods can even out, expand, and smooth the flavors of the coffees. This personal revelation almost outweighed the excitement I felt at knowing that I will have work after I graduate college in two weeks or even the fun of meeting new coworkers and regulars to the coffee shop. Coffee is not just coffee! Food and drink really do go together, and perhaps Remy was right that "If you are what you eat, then [we] only want to eat the good stuff."


Now let's hope that I can remember everything I learned about flavors and brewing coffee for Wednesday's training...