Drink to feel healthy

Because I still have a whole ounce of the Genmalcha tea left, I didn't buy any more loose leaf tea today. Instead, I decided to purchase a single cup to try, and this week's is an Oolong, dubbed Dung ti. Oolong, as I discovered today, is the type of tea between green and black in oxidation level, although it is best steeped for the shorter time of a green tea. 

The first thing I noticed was the tea's rich, warm hue. I was reminded of all the times I have put a bottle of honey in the microwave to warm up and make dispensing honey easier, only to accidently burn myself of the runny honey because I left it in the microwave too long. I was surprised at the amber color, but then again, as this is the first Oolong tea I remember drinking, I'm not sure what I was expecting.

To my uneducated taste buds, Dung ti seemed a natural flavor, grassy with a hint of straw, or as my friend C. described it, "like a meadow." If I hadn't known it to be Oolong, I would probably have erroneously assumed it a green tea. The taste was light and rested on the middle of my tongue instead of spreading out and around the sides. However, my mouth seemed drier after I finished the tea than before, but perhaps that's a unique quirk of mine. 

Unfortunately, I didn't get a picture. But here's the cup!

As she measured out leaves and pushed them into the small brewing bag, the barista told me the story of the customer who lived in China for years and drank Dung ti multiple times a day. When he moved back to the United States, he searched everywhere for a comparable blend, but he eventually had to resort to ordering Dung ti online. Upon drinking this tea from the shop, though, he confessed it was one of the closest things he'd found in the US. "And I take that as a compliment," said the barista.

While not a tea I might drink on a regular basis, I did enjoy it for the most part. Something about the flavor made me feel healthy, perhaps even healthier than when I drink green tea. Maybe Dung ti will become my After-Eating-Junk-Food-Tea, to make myself feel better. 

Tea leaves

The other day, I purchased my very first tea infuser and my very first packet of loose-leaf tea. My best friend K., who is a tea enthusiast, was quite proud to hear that I was finally venturing in her footsteps.

The tea I bought was a green blend dubbed Genmalcha. I have not found myself to be a fan of green tea in the past, not iced and not hot. Typically, I don't enjoy the usual taste of green tea, but I hear no end to the benefits of drinking it. I managed to conjure up enough courage to ask the woman in the shop that I stopped in if she could recommend a good green tea for me to try, and she pointed out several for me to smell. I was most intrigued by one that boasted a description of "sweet & unique blended with toasted rice!" To me, it smelled lightly of grass and popcorn.

As she weighed out 2oz for me, the woman explained that the Genmalcha tea dated all the way back to the time of the Chinese Emperors. Once, a servant accidently spilled rice into the emperor's tea, and the infuriated ruler had the servant beheaded immediately. On a whim, the emperor tasted the tea, and to his surprise, he found the rice added a delightful flavor. Filled with remorse at his hasty punishment, the emperor named the new blend after the dead servant, Genmalcha.

Using my infuser for the first time!

Brewed, the pale green tea still had the grass and popcorn aroma from before, and the taste was similar. It was light and delicate, a soothing flavor that did not distract or confuse. To me, Genmalcha seems to be a tea well suited to reading or writing, where the brain is occupied elsewhere. I think it will soon become a staple in my tea collection, for the brew is perfect unsweetened and does not leave an aftertaste at all. It is a kind of haiku, there on your tongue for a moment, and then gone. But I enjoy the moment.

I even break non-New Year's resolutions

Yesterday, I unintentionally ingested caffeine, breaking my nine-day caffeine-free streak. Cutting caffeine out of my life was not a New Year's resolution, despite the fact the two coincided nicely; instead, it all happened because I picked up a cough the Wednesday before New Year's.

My MO the moment I realize I'm sick is to immediately cut out as much milk and dairy products from my diet as possible, to reduce phlegm. This means no cereal for breakfast, not ice cream in the evenings...and no creamer in coffee. And, since I need flavored creamer to make my coffee drinkable, the logical conclusion is no coffee. But this leaves me with the question of how to get the caffeine that I need.

For a day or two, I tried drinking black tea, and it worked to a degree, but I was still left with headaches in the afternoon. While visiting friends over the weekend, I gave up and drank coffee in the mornings, partially because it was already made and partially because I was tired of my head hurting all afternoon and evening. To make the best of a bad situation, I limited myself to less than half a cup, reasoning that such a small amount of cream wouldn't be detrimental to my throat and cough. I was delighted to find that, somehow, a quarter cup of coffee was all the caffeine I required for those days. The headaches hadn't been pointless pain after all.

On January 2, I decided to take a risk. I had been drinking so little caffeine lately; what would happen if I just didn't have any that day? A little concerned about the four-hour drive home from my friends' house ahead of me, I reassured myself that I could always stop somewhere and grab a latte or coffee someplace if needed.

I cherished a sense of accomplishment that night as I lay in bed and claimed my first completely caffeine-free, headache-free day in years.

For the next week, I stayed strong, resisting the chuckling coffee pot in our kitchen as it brewed for my roommates and the swirl and grind of the espresso machines at work. I stayed away from black and green teas (that wasn't hard, as a matter of fact. I much prefer herbal teas anyway), and I did not even have a sip of my favorite drink of hot apple juice and chai. Yesterday, with my stomach grumbling in the middle of the afternoon, I thought I would have a tiny, decaf, pumpkin spice latte, the only latte I will willingly drink, to tide me over until dinner. It was only as I finished the last bit of the 8 ounce drink that I remembered I had automatically pushed the button for regular espresso instead of decaf. My streak was ended.

But a new one starts today.

And that cough I gave up dairy for?
It turned into pneumonia.
But at least I know I tried.

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.