6 posts tagged “coffee”

There is a coffeeshop on the campus of my school.  Needless to say, I made its aquiantance my first day and have continued to go there--well, more frequently than I ought.  The head barista of this shop is always there: she opens the place up at 7-something and closes it at 6 Monday through Friday.  She--and the staff--are pleasant people who'll remember you and your favorite drink.  They're also delightfully unhurried, which is maddening if you're rushing to class, but it's a good place to slow down and relax for the five-ten minutes it will take to make your drink.  Besides, I like the non-corporate-"MUST HAVE DRINK READY IN THREE MINUTES" feel.

We've had some most un-cowtownlike weather here for the last two weeks: cool, rainy, damp.  We went nine days without any real sun, which is probably a record. 

A few days ago, I stopped by the coffeeshop for a much-needed mocha.  The head barista had a little space heater going by her stool, and a blanket that she set back on the stool when she got up to take my order.  The coffeeshop tends to be really cool, even by my standards, so it must be quite chilly to anyone originally from the South.

When I commented on the blanket and heater, the barista laughed.

"Girl, you should've seen me when I came in this morning.  I forgot my umbrella, and I was SOAKED by the time I got in here.  And you know how it's always cold in here?"

I nodded wholeheartedly.  "Good grief, you must have been freezing."

"Yeah, I was.  I got a coffee, but I was dripping wet and just couldn't get warm.  Then one of the professors came in.  She noticed that I was all wet, y'know?  So she asked if I could maybe go home and get a change of clothes, but I'm here by myself today.  I made her her drink, but she would you believe this?  She came back a few minutes later with the space heater and a blanket from her office and told me I could just give them back when she comes by for her drink tomorrow morning."

Y'know, that warmed the cockles of my cranky fifth-week-of-the-semester heart.  How many people--much less people of different work "ranks", like the professor and this barista--would haul a space heater and blanket back across a puddle-laden campus just because she wanted to make sure the barista at the college's coffee shop didn't catch a chill?

I promise a real post...sometime soon.

I am up at 9 AM on a Saturday morning.  I've given up trying to go back to sleep.  (I usually sleep 'til 11 or so on Saturdays--it makes up for the 5 and 6 hour nights I have during the week.)

I'm rather impressed by my neighbors.

Not only were they playing mariachi music and partying 'til at LEAST two this morning, but they were up and fooling around with power tools by 7.  Both of these activities, needless to say, take place in their front yard.

I mean, goodness knows that I wouldn't go within a mile of a table saw after partying until five hours previous.

But perhaps I'm just strange.

Coffee. Now.

Moments in which one feels less like a diva and more like a perfect idiot would include:

--Get up.  Note that you are feeling less than spectacular, as a river seems to be running down the back of your throat and you feel generally achy/lethargic/et all.  Be a good little singer and renounce your morning coffee (dehydrating) in favor of several cups of strong ginger tea.  Get dressed, still feeling slightly less than spectacular but vowing that The Show Must Go On.  ("The Show Must Go On" sounds better than "I can't miss either of those theory classes, and I can't afford to miss work, and I'm not THAT sick.")  Skip most of the makeup routine.  Fasten your hair back in any way possible, as it's decided to expand to twice its normal volume due to the weather.  Briefly consider adding some superglue to the hair gel, and then decide against it because the fumes would irritate your sinuses more than they are already.  Put on favorite all-purpose-recital-work-church black skirt in order to cheer yourself up.  Observe, with mild confusion, that the skirt seems about eight inches longer than the last time you wore it, but dismiss this fact and run out the door without bothering to glance in the mirror.  Spend the day running to and from classes and voice lessons, and only look in the mirror after being at work for four hours or so.  Have an "Aha!" moment when you realize that you've been wearing that skirt backwards all day. (The back of the skirt is mid-calf length, while the front is knee-length.  Worn correctly, this is a nice effect.  Reversed, this looks absolutely ridiculous.)

--The next morning, get up.  You are only working at school today, so you can wear jeans.  Jeans are very difficult to put on backwards.  Yay.  An hour or so after getting to work, realize that Things Will Not Be Pretty if some caffeine is not ingested.  Compromise with a soy-milk latte (not bad at all, actually).  Walk to the coffee shop on campus.  By the time you get to the counter, the barista already has your usual coffee in preparation without your having to say a word ("Medium soy hazelnut latte with an extra shot, coming right up." ) Sipping your coffee and musing upon the loveliness of a fall day in Texas and the delight of having a barista who remembers your special drink, walk back to the building in which you work.  Place your right foot firmly about two inches in front of the door, and use your coffee-gripping hand to yank the door open--which, of course, it doesn't, as your foot is in the way.  Break three nails when your hand slips on the handle, slop several ounces of your beautiful-work-of-art coffee over shirt and jeans, and look up to note that the person just inside the door (who witnessed the entire performance) is your supervisor.  Bite your tongue, and do NOT use so much as one word of your denoted-by-asterisks library.

Hope y'all got a good laugh out of that.  I'm going to finish my coffee, have a good laugh myself, an remember that today is going to improve.  After all, I do get paid this afternoon.  Money is a lovely thing. 

Now if I could just figure out what to get my sister for her birthday, I'd be set. 

If you use a coffee-brewing machine to get coffee, that machine will work SO much better if you put a filter in the basket prior to spooning coffee into the basket, filling the water reservoir, and turning it on.

Apparently, I need coffee in order to operate the coffee machine.  This poses a conundrum.

This will make one sixteen-ounce travel mug of deliciousness.

You'll need:

14 oz water

4 heaping TB of ground coffee (I make VERY strong coffee; use less if you prefer)

1 oz milk (anything from skim to whole)

1/4-1/2 ts cinnamon

Two spoons of sugar or honey

Place the coffee in the basket of the coffee maker, and add the cinnamon on top.  Brew as usual.  While brewing, put the milk in the bottom of the cup, and add the sugar.  Pour the coffee into the milk/sugar mix, stir, and enjoy!

Oh, and I do realize that 14+1= 15, and not 16.  Even my math isn't that bad.  However, if you fill the cup to the brim you will not be able to put the lid on most travel mugs without splashing coffee about, as most travel mugs have lids that fit on the inside of the mug.

I am told that this also works well with soy milk and Splenda.  I don't mind soy milk in anything except coffee; in coffee, the flavor strikes me as grotesque.  Splenda I detest as well, but, of course, your mileage may vary.

Most of my customers--say about 90%--are totally unremarkable.

Another 5% are memorable solely because of their utter illiteracy or stupidity.  Examples include this from a...rural...gentleman, attired in cutoff jeans, a wifebeater, and a grungy baseball cap that didn't sufficiently disguise his blond mullet:

"Yes ma'am, ah'd like that there book on duhve huntin'."

"Dove hunting?"

"Yeah, mah boy has ter read it fer school." 

"Err, do you know the author's name?" 

"Naw, ah ain't much inter books.  But maybe the last name had somethin' to do with a war."

"Well, could you tell me a little about it?"

"Ah know it's kinder famous, but ah can't saih for shurr wahy."

"I...see.  And your son has to read it for school.  It's a book about hunting?" (where is this school district, and what the...?)

"Yah, ah dunn toled you that.  Do y'all have it?"

(I really don't get paid enough) "Did the school happen to send you a letter with the title of the book?"

"'Fraid ah'm not real shur, ma'am.  The school sends a lotta mail, but ah figger the wife takes care of it." (I can't imagine why)

(suddenly, his face brightens)  "But mah son goes to (insert name of public school in boonies near cowtown here).  What're they readin'?"

Suddenly, a shaft of light breaks through the fog.  I remember a couple of kids from this school coming in last week.  We aren't the closest store by any stretch, but they happened to be in cowtown that day, and got the book from our store.  What was the title?  Oh, surely not.  Surely not.

"Sir, it wouldn't be To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, would it?"

It was.

Le sigh.

Of the remaining 5%, 2% are briefly memorable because of snottiness, phone-against-the-ear-itis (symptoms include an inability to hear the cashier ask you to step out of line and go to her register, an inability to understand why the bookseller will NOT, if she has other customers, stand next to you and wait for you to finish your phone conversation before assisting you, and an inability to understand complicated directions like "please slide your card here and enter your PIN or press clear), or just outright RUDENESS (b*tching out the bookseller because you had a bad experience at a store in this chain five years before she was legally old enough to be employed by this store, for example, and offering this as an excuse for why we should give you a discount).

Another 1% are the ones who send the booksellers running the MINUTE they walk into the store.  These are usually regular customers who a) want to tell you that Harry Potter is REAL and they need to find the Marauder's Map and where is it shelved?, b) want to corner you to tell you all about their political views (which, no matter what your political bent, will ALWAYS be the exact opposite of yours), c) want to get entirely too hands-on with the female booksellers, d) throw a fit because their frappuccino is "too sweet"--but always order the same frappuccino, and/or e) will ask you to spend thirty minutes looking up obscure or impossible-to-find books with little or no information--"I think it was published in 1910 and had 'fieldmice' in the title, but I'm not sure."

Finally, there are the 2% who either make me laugh, make my day, make my week, or who just make an impact on me that I won't forget.  Or they'll do something so completely unexpected that I do a quadruple-take.

I had one of the latter the other night.

I saw a couple walking through History/Current Events, greeted them, and asked if they needed any help.

This couple was perhaps in their late fifties, and had, I suspect, been married for some time.  She had her arm through his, and they were chatting and laughing like a couple in their twenties.  It was neat to see.

If J. Random Invididual had looked at them, he probably wouldn't have been impressed.  They were both blondish, medium height, maybe a little extra weight.  No outstanding features beyond nice smiles and the fact that they were clearly still very much in love.

After I greeted them, they smiled at me and said that they didn't need any help, and how was I doing?  I replied with some sort of brief response--"fine," "great," "fantastic," etc--and continued on my way back to music to help a music seller with something.  Perfectly normal interaction, happens literally hundreds of times during a shift.  I thought no more about it.

About three minutes later, I saw the couple walk into music.  They came and stood near me while I finished with a customer.  Once the other customer left, I turned to the couple.

The guy walked over, took my hand, smiled (very kind smile) and said, "We just wanted to apologize.  I don't think we were very polite back there; we were a bit preoccupied.  Thanks for asking us how we were doing, and again, we didn't mean to be impolite."

Me: (astonished stare) "Good grief, you were fine.  I didn't think you were at all impolite.  In fact, you even asked me how I was doing." (wondering vaguely "what the heck?...")

Her: "Oh, well, we thought we'd been a bit abrupt."

Me: "I didn't.  Don't worry about it."

Him: (still smiling) "Well, I'm glad you felt that way.  Listen, you have a really nice evening, okay?"

Me" ...Yeah, you too.  Come back and see us again."

(stands in music department, blinking for several seconds)

They walked out of the store, still hand-in-hand.

Yes, two very nice customers apologized for being insufficiently nice by no one's standards but their own (obviously very high) ones.

In short, I'm expecting the Four Horsemen to make an appearance any minute.  Be warned.  You heard it here first.  It's the only possible explanation.

Now, if I could figure out why so many people felt compelled to wear cat ear headbands into the store tonight.  There was no obvious connection between any of them.  Different ages (youngest about 13, oldest about 40), male and female, different races (white, asian, hispanic), different socioeconomic backgrounds (the ears were worn with everything from grungy jeans to a local private school uniform), different religions (one guy wore a cross, one gal was wearing a pentogram pendant) etc.  Very odd.  The Mr. Clean dude with the cat ear headband will, I think, be forever etched in my memory.

(shakes head)

Overall, it was a really nice night.  I'd had entirely too much coffee (didn't sleep much or well last night) and was consequently very (and unusually) perky/upbeat/engaging.  On the sales floor, I think I'm ordinarily pleasant but quiet and rather low-key.  With that much coffee, I chattered nonstop, I laughed (and made most of the customers laugh), I got several people to sign up for the idiotic card program, etc, etc.  The rest of the crew found this hysterical.  (no more espresso after 5, ubi.)

And people wonder why I don't drink, when mere caffeine does this to me!  Can you imagine?

Ooof.  I just crashed.  Must. go. to. bed. now.