Saturday, January 30, 2010

001; Salutations!

Hi there. My name is Barista Babe.

(Not really. Anonymity is the new black, if by 'black' you mean 'way to keep The Man off your back' and by 'new' you mean 'age-old,' which I do in both cases.)

I work- if you can't tell from the nom de keyboard- in a coffee shop. My particular coffee shop is one of thousands of eerily similar coffee shops located around the world as part of a decades-old international chain. You know which one I mean; you probably have three in your town or, conversely, know people who drive forty-five minutes to get to the nearest iteration of this coffee shop. I'm not going to name this chain of coffee shops; if you can't guess why, start at the beginning of this post and actually read the parenthetical this time. I'll wait.

Don't get me wrong: working for Corporate Coffee Shop is a damn good gig, and I know it. My bretheren in the food service industry who sling burgers all day would probably consider my job a luxury cruise, and with good reason (one word: benefits.) Having entered the workforce as the employee of another food service chain which also catered to suburban yuppies and served ok food for exorbitant prices made viable by the entitlement-heavy atmosphere purveyed by said chain- all the while treating its employees like scum- I'm aware of how lucky I have it where I am now. Corporate treats us worker bees like people at least 50% of the time, which is a pretty damn good statistic all things considered. Add to that the fact that most- the operative word being most- of the people I work with are intelligent, capable, hilarious and caring, and it's basically a dream job for a girl with a high school diploma and little else to her name. I know that.

But after more than three years of enduring the bullshit people will pull regarding coffee, I'm about five seconds off at any given time from bringing the hurt on the next yuppie who asks why I didn't put chocolate drizzle on her latte when she didn't order it, benefits or no benefits.

This is the internet age. When in angst, blog. Maybe it'll help. Maybe I'll make someone laugh. Hell, maybe I'll convince one person to throw a dollar in the tip jar next time she orders a cuppa. And if that should come to pass, will not this blog be justified?

Whatever. Tales From The Other Side Of The Espresso Bar, here we go: Things You Shouldn't Say To Your Barista.