One of my greatest fears besides spiders and crowds of people is going to a store or shop that I’ve never been to before. What’s even worse is if I have to buy something there. It’s like a new and scary world where anything can happen. ANYTHING.
What even worse and freaks me out even more is going to a coffee shop or coffee stand and having to place an order. I’m not much of a coffee drinker to being with. To me, coffee is like a dessert that not only gives you a sugar high, but also causes a caffeinated hyperactivity rush. I love them blended because it gives me an excuse to have something like a milkshake any time of the day without being judged.
Coffee shops and stands are scary for their own separate reasons. At a coffee shop, you usually find Indie hipster type people behind the counter. They’re so hip they don’t care about anything anymore except if other people are as hip as them. Why wash you’re hair? That’s way too mainstream. And forget about customer service. They’d rather tell you to get the hell out of there than wait for you to make a decision on what to order. And blended drinks? Forget it, noob.
My husband has recently decided that he loves to get coffee, so whenever we go out somewhere, he wants us to make a stop. He’s easy; all he asks for is a mocha. On a really daring day he may add a little flavor. I, on the other hand, have no idea what all the coffee lingo means and will never ever get it down no matter how many times my husband explains it to me.
Our church has had coffee outings before where they make a pilgramige through our little town to try various types of coffee to decide who has the best. My husband believes this will be fun and has tried talking me into going quite a few times. He doesn’t understand the vastness of my pent-up dread and loathing of going places to buy coffee (I try to keep the allusion of sanity, for our marriage’s sake).
What usually happens is as we wait in line my eyes dart from one picture of foamy coffee on the wall to another, trying to figure out what actually tastes good and what tastes like mud coffee sludge (which I’ve come to realize, most do). Can I get something blended? Why can’t there just be something called “liquid candy?” That would make things a lot easier for me.
I can never decide! I freak even worse when I see that we’re getting closer and closer to the front of the line. That’s when I go to my husband for emergency support.
Me: “What is a mocha again?”
Husband: “Milk and chocolate.”
Me: “Then what’s a latte?”
Husband: “Milk and flavoring.”
Me: “Why isn’t a mocha just called a chocolate latte then?”
Husband: “Because then it wouldn’t be a mocha.”
Me: “Can you add flavoring to a mocha?”
Husband: “Yes.”
Trying to figure out the philosophy of coffee names takes me into a downward spiral of confusion and anger. I get mad when I don’t understand things that everyone seems to find simple. Then I’m even more angry because it’s our turn and I have no idea what to say to the cool, nonchalant and somewhat hostile person behind the counter.
Of course I have to have the bad luck of marrying one of the few gentleman left on the planet. The first thing he says when we get up there is, “Do you know what you want?”
This turns the attention of the barista to me. I’ve learned over the years that if I say no, my husband won’t order his drink because he has a “ladies first” mentality. When that happens I see the barista’s eyes narrow and I can feel the angry force of the patrons behind us as they realize that I am the easily destroyable thing that stands between them and their precious coffee.
What to do?! One of two things always happens. Either I point to a sign that’s close by and say, “Um, can I have…” and squint to see the name of it. I usually pronounce it wrong and get a cool warning look from the barista. Otherwise, I blurt out the first thing on the menu hanging from the ceiling behind the counter. Depending on how well this goes with the barista, I may or may not ask if I can have it blended.
When this series of events has occurred, I usually end up with some sort of liquid-ish frosty thing that tastes a lot like chalk or mud (or better yet, a mix of the two!). There have only been a few instances when I’ve actually liked and finished what I order. As nice as that is while I’m drinking it, my downfall is the fact that, if we ever come back, I’ll never be able to remember what it is I blurted out for my order.
As difficult and scary as going to a coffee shop is, I dread going to a coffee stand even more. The people who are hired there are the complete opposite of the ridiculously cool hipsters in coffee shops. At coffee stands you will find people who look like they belong to a sorority or fraternity modeled after Delta Nu from Legally Blonde (I had to look that up; don’t judge me!).
They are so chatty I can’t help but hope to God it’s because they’ve been pumping whatever 12-shot coffee they favor directly into their veins since they arrived at their shift. If that is genuine energy, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave my house again.
I’m alright with nice people. I’m alright with super bubbly happy people. I’m alright with ridiculously attractive people (these are all attributes of coffee stand employees). What I’m not alright with is when people cross the line from being happy, to flirting just for the sake of selling coffee; coffee that I’m already there to buy. I don’t need to be patronized and flirted into placing my order (this makes me freeze up even worse than a hot hipster barista does).
I am still nervous when I drive or walk up to these places, but the great thing is that they’re more like candy stores than the hard core coffee shops. Everything they have is hopped up with major syrup and sweets. It’s my kind of coffee. Even if I don’t pay attention to what I order, there’s a good 87% chance that I’ll get something tasty.
I could get past this nervousness if the people working there weren’t so in-your-face nice/flirty. I always leave wanting to tell the guys there, “no. I do not desire you to flirt with me or to comment on something about me to the point of being creepy. I am not your type, nor are you mine. We can be friends if you insist, but I will never ever trust you. Keep your manic smiles to yourself and I’ll just drive right on through, nothing to see here. Trust me, its better this way.”
But it’s the girls at these places who are actually the worst. I always get the sorority girl who is way too cute and bubbly to be real (Malibu Skipper always comes to mind). Again I must make it clear that I have no problem with cute/bubbly people as long as they don’t do the following:
Coffee Chick: “Hi there! How are you today?!”
Me: “Great. How about you?”
Coffee Chick: “I’m absolutely fantastic! Today is wonderful and I love being up in the morning selling people coffee!”
Me: “It’s definitely nice to love your job.”
Coffee Chick: “Are you doing anything fun or exciting today?!”
Me: “Not really, just going to work.”
I start to get tense. This is where things can either continue smoothly or take a turn for the worst. My hope is that I can order my coffee, thank her, leave a tip and be on my way. A little more conversation is ok, but a line has to be drawn.
This is when she looks me up and down through my car window. Apparently something catches her eye.
Coffee Chick: “Oh, I see you’ve got some sparkle on your shirt under that jacket! It looks like you’ve got some hidden sparkle in your personality going on there! I’m sure you’re going to have a very exciting day!”
Me: “…Um…thanks…you have a good day too.”
The time this happened, I felt violated and dirty. I just wanted to take my drink and run away. The rest of the day I had to wonder if she had intentionally given me a smarmy backhanded compliment or if she had no idea how that had come out. Either way, I was never going back.
I’m sure there are some very nice people who work at coffee shops and coffee stands. If there are, where are you?! I would be more than happy to even fly to another state, heck a different country, to order something from you. If you’re on a late-night shift, I’d start drinking coffee at 1:30 in the morning, just for you. It would be a privilege and an honor. You’ll recognize me as the shaking person afraid to make eye contact while ordering who bursts into tears of relief and delight when I discover that you, the perfect barista, are real. Until then, I will think of you as my Moby Dick and I your Captain Ahab. Searching coffee shops and stands in the seas of my own fear and hesitation.
**Note: I realize that I probably got most of the coffee definitions wrong. That is because I do not understand. This is partially due to the fact that it is so confusing. Also, I’m a tad passive aggressive and if I think something is stupid, I’ll usually refuse to learn it. Flaws? What flaws? I have no flaws!
Also, this was written to be funny. Please laugh. If you don’t, I will cry. And for the record, I have a few friends that were baristas and they were AMAZING (you know who you are). This entire story is an irrational fear of mine that has been written in a satirical and hyperbolic fashion. I do not mean to insult anyone. **
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