It's Not the End of the World

During my coffee-making days, I met a lot of uptight people. A lot. More than my fair share. Granted, I met uptight people during all of my jobs, but the coffee house industry sees more than it needs to.

Think of it this way: caffeine is a highly addictive drug and, like crack or meth, people need their fix. People become skittish, antsy, trying to quell the urge for something that will calm their nerves.

During my tenure at The Grind, I dealt with far too many people like this. I was a crack dealer, essentially. A legally employed crack dealer.

The line at The Grind, as I'm sure you can imagine, was longest and steadiest during the morning hours. We're talking the wee morning hours, too. I'd pull into the parking lot at 4:30 in the morning just to get things started (we opened at 5 a.m., an ungodly hour, a I-can-still-see-the-moon-and-stars hour), and there they were, the four cars I could count on to wait for me to unlock the doors at 5.

The procession would start, customers trailing in to order their stiff coffee drinks and flaky pastries. Most of them were zombies. Things ran pretty smoothly until around 7 a.m., when the coffee tweakers were at their most incessantly needy. You could pick them out in line; impatiently tapping a foot, or glancing at a wrist-watch again and again. If you paid close enough attention, you could see them mouth the words Come on, already. As if this were going to make me or my co-workers move any faster (in fact, we all took a morbid kind of glee in making them wait).

Customer, looking well-coiffed and Ready for the Day, but clearly trying to hide her desperation for coffee, says, "I'll have a grande, non-fat, extra-hot, upside-down, no-whip, no foam, extra, extra caramel, caramel macchiatto." For those of you not versed in Coffee, that's a caramel macchiatto, but with all the bells and whistles.

Awesome. Cool. Customer orders a pastry, and I'm left to make this lofty drink at the esspresso bar. Steadily I make it, place it on the counter to my left (where customers pick up their delicious drinks), and I call it out: "I have a grande, non-fat, extra-hot, upside-down, no-whip, with foam, extra, extra caramel, caramel macchiatto on the bar!"

The first thing Customer does is lift the lid to her drink. No "thank you" or "have a nice day." No, instead she inspects her drink as if maybe I'd spit in it. "There's foam on here," Customer snaps, "I didn't want foam."

"Oh," I said, "I apologize. I can make you another one."

She scowls at me with such eyes, I thought maybe I might disintegrate into dust. "I don't have time," she nearly howls. "I have to get to work!"

"Miss, it's an easily fixable mistake."

"My God," she starts, "I can't even drink this. I can't even drink this now that it has foam on it."

I sigh. "Look, it's written on the cup you wanted no whip cream. I apologize. I just assumed..."

"I've been coming in here long enough," Customer gripes. "You think you'd know my drink by now."

Well, frankly, you're one of about a thousand people I see a week, so don't flatter yourself. I want to say this, but I don't. Instead I grab the steamed milk spoon, lean over, scoop the foam off her drink, top it off with more steamed milk, and say, "See, it's not the end of the world."

Even though I've fixed what was apparently a life-altering mistake, Customer says, "That was a smart-ass thing to do and I don't appreciate it. Who's your manager."

With a smile that screams warmth I say, "You're looking at him."

Customer rolls her eyes, grabs her drink, slips her sunglasses back on, and turns on heel to leave.

"Have a great day!" I yell after her.