I would like now to write about the absurdity of the other day.
The other day, I arrived at the cafe as always - freshly rolled out of bed, still yawning, matted hair and dirty jeans and my usual I-don't-care-enough face of no makeup, bags under eyes. Upon arrival up the stairs to the room of Promised Chaos and Stress, I found M scurrying around, half the coffee pots empty, espresso all over the floor. I could tell it had been busy, and went to my usual first task of grinding coffee in the basement.
As I stood grinding the coffee - one of my favorite cafe activities, it smells so great! - I noticed C pacing around nearby. And by pacing, I mean pacing with ferocity and carrying a hammer, and literally fuming, suppressing what I think were the beginnings of screams. So, I concluded that yes, he was definitely the epitome of PISSED - bat out of hell pissed.
After a few loud slams and a couple of trays were thrown against a wall, he stormed past me into the office. Door slam.
Glass shatter.
The very frazzled and frightened looking book keeper emerging through the door with shards of glass poking into her shoe soles. Glass all over the floor. I asked her what is going on, exactly? She tells me that their cat, who had recently been lost outdoors and had caused a whole lot of grief and yelling and Utter Chaos the prior week, had now escaped via a tiny hole in the wall.
I see C emerge from the office, and I can tell his wrath is on a whole new scale of anger. He promptly slams his hammer into the wall, and I take that as my cue to go back upstairs to the room of Promised Chaos.
When I get back up there, arms full of coffee containers and my entire front brown with coffee grinds, I am confronted by the Boy Next Door. GREAT.
The Boy Next Door makes my heart leap and significantly decreases my abilities to act like a normally functioning human being. We'll talk about him later, though.
So, Boy is there, my heart catches in my throat and I forget how to speak and function like a human being, and M. asks me "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON DOWN THERE?" and we hear more slams of furniture and/or hammer whacking, and then every customer (aka the entire town of Acton) comes to the counter to inform me that "the window to that cellar outside is broken." "Did you know that there is a broken window outside?" Next person. "HEY THERE IS A BROKEN WINDOW." "OMG DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS A BROKEN WINDOW!"
omg, did you know you all sound like a broken record, and that YES, i witnessed that window breaking.
An hour or two later, the cat is retrieved from the wall. Whew.
Meanwhile, a constant and loud hammering has begun upstairs. Upstairs, there is a cute little apartment that the cafe owners are about to move into. And of course, moving in always mean renovations. Today, the flooring was being redone, and the hammering was loud and quite obnoxious. And of course, when there is any form of a constant sound or unusual occurrence, customers will be more than happy to inform me of the Quite Obvious:
"Did you know there is a hammering noise?" (NO. I'm just deaf/immune to all noises because I am a worker and hence not a human being with hearing abilities).
"What's that hammering? Do you hear that? What do you think that might be?"
"WHAT IS THAT?"
"You know, that hammering has been going on for a while."
Multiply these questions and their various forms by about the entire town of Acton, MA, and you will have the number of times I had to hear and answer this question.
About mid afternoon, M leaves to go about her day, and I am left By Myself. Normally, this is fine with me, but I have an uneasy feeling about the things that will happen next.
And it is with my luck that the second M leaves, what feels like every person in Massachusetts decides to get on board the Cafe train and plow through those front doors, and I am left losing most of my mind in the midst of chicken tarragon orders and lattes and smoothies and cookies and dirty dishes and "order up!" and take out orders and busing tables and refilling coffee pots and brewing iced tea and losing most of my brain in the process.
And it is with my luck on this grand and eventful day that C decides to play with the fuses and thus accidentally shut down my main register. The one with ALL of the money inside. The one that, with no power, I cannot access in any way shape of form.
And suddenly, there is an "order up!!!!!" for obnoxious ice cream (yes, ice cream is obnoxious, more about that later) and I fly to the back to retrieve it. Of course it's actually not QUITE ready, and I have to wait awkwardly for a good thirty seconds. And while I wait awkwardly and customers see me waiting awkwardly and thus wonder what I am doing just standing there and why am I not waiting on then hand and foot, I hear it.
The water.
The Niagara Falls of floods inside of a building.
I hear it pelting the floor, spraying, dripping. And when I enter the room of Promised Chaos, there it all is, exploding happily from the ceiling - WATER. EVERYWHERE. I could have taken a shower right then and there.
I ended up placing a grimy and huge container beneath it and laughing. Customers were of course, mortified and fascinated, and I got to answer yet another wave of informative observations and Quite Obvious questions. "Water just poured from the ceiling." "Did you know that water just came out of the ceiling? What was that? Why was it pouring out?" "Do you know what the big leak was??"
It was the men upstairs. The ones that had been hammering and had thus created the first wave of ridiculous questions and concerns about the overall well-being of the cafe. They had hit a pipe, and not just any pipe - the toilet pipe.
And so, after nearly bathing in toilet water, making people pay with their credit cards or exact cash only, and witnessing a window smash/wall smash/missing cat, I decided that yes, this day was absolutely absurd and that yes, I love the things that are so unpredictable that we can only sit back and laugh at them in the end.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Back Porch, the people that come and go.
I take my breaks on the back porch.
I've watched the seasons turn over from this porch - I watched early summer turn to late, steamy, fever-like August, and August turn to orange and red, and now I stare at bare trees and shiver. I used to gulp iced coffee & eat cold sandwiches; now it's hot hazelnut coffee and squash soup.
I have a nice view of the parking lot from my spot on the porch. Nothing much happens here, not much to look at. C tends to be below, grilling and talking to himself. Sometimes he'll notice I'm up there on the porch, and he'll talk to me about grilling things properly, or the Crazy People that crawl through this town, or his cats, or that the Wall Street Journal is located in CT, and isn't that something?
I can always hear the clanking of the dishes inside, the hum of the hustle and bustle that I am happily and finally sitting away from. I can see the stone wall of the church next door. Next Door.
Next Door is a beautiful stone church, except it is no longer a church from the glimpses I've caught of its inside. It's been made into a company headquarters of some sort. I like to try and imagine who the customers are that get to work in such a lovely building. Sometimes when I am on my break, I have an urge to tear off my work shirt and walk on in, just to catch a glimpse. I like to imagine the inside is just as beautiful/wondrous as the outside.
I don't know why I am so fascinated with a place. I suppose I have nothing better to do, and after the 10th cappuccino of the day, my mind needs to be elsewhere. And what better place than fantasizing about Next Door?
The grand architects, the well-dressed men in their shiny shoes and pressed shirts, their colognes and perfumes fusing my coffee air, ordering their food, collecting their change and continuing into their days - I often feel like a fly on the wall, watching the entire town of Acton come and go and live their lives. I like to wonder about the things they go off and do after they've gotten their egg sandwiches and their triple espressos. I like to wonder about people, especially the ones I see every day and know so well, yet know nothing about.
I've watched the seasons turn over from this porch - I watched early summer turn to late, steamy, fever-like August, and August turn to orange and red, and now I stare at bare trees and shiver. I used to gulp iced coffee & eat cold sandwiches; now it's hot hazelnut coffee and squash soup.
I have a nice view of the parking lot from my spot on the porch. Nothing much happens here, not much to look at. C tends to be below, grilling and talking to himself. Sometimes he'll notice I'm up there on the porch, and he'll talk to me about grilling things properly, or the Crazy People that crawl through this town, or his cats, or that the Wall Street Journal is located in CT, and isn't that something?
I can always hear the clanking of the dishes inside, the hum of the hustle and bustle that I am happily and finally sitting away from. I can see the stone wall of the church next door. Next Door.
Next Door is a beautiful stone church, except it is no longer a church from the glimpses I've caught of its inside. It's been made into a company headquarters of some sort. I like to try and imagine who the customers are that get to work in such a lovely building. Sometimes when I am on my break, I have an urge to tear off my work shirt and walk on in, just to catch a glimpse. I like to imagine the inside is just as beautiful/wondrous as the outside.
I don't know why I am so fascinated with a place. I suppose I have nothing better to do, and after the 10th cappuccino of the day, my mind needs to be elsewhere. And what better place than fantasizing about Next Door?
The grand architects, the well-dressed men in their shiny shoes and pressed shirts, their colognes and perfumes fusing my coffee air, ordering their food, collecting their change and continuing into their days - I often feel like a fly on the wall, watching the entire town of Acton come and go and live their lives. I like to wonder about the things they go off and do after they've gotten their egg sandwiches and their triple espressos. I like to wonder about people, especially the ones I see every day and know so well, yet know nothing about.
Monday, November 2, 2009
repetition blend, with a shot of Tip advice.
the days blend together.
i work so much that lately, i've started to dream about being at the cafe. i woke up the other night sitting perfectly upright, overturning my covers looking for a woman's salad she'd ordered.
my clock will read 3 a.m. & i'll quickly figure out how many hours i have left to sleep before i have to really be worrying about To Go salads and large iced teas.
i wake up an hour or two later, usually. same ordeal. stress. sometimes, i dream that i am driving to work, and in the distance, a large truck is swerving into my lane. or sometimes, i am driving and look up in time to see the bumper of the car in front of me just 5 feet away, and my car is going 60. i always wake up on impact.
regular customers are in my dreams now, too. anne - the salad & large iced tea lady. she's very nice, and i believe she works next door (many of the customers work Next Door, though I have yet to know what Next Door actually is. I like to imagine they are all architects - they strike me as designers). today, we were out of the salad she normally orders. i felt badly.
lately, i've noticed that people like to order large & extra complicated hot drinks, take two or three sips, & then leave. i don't know if it's pure luxury for them, but i think it's very wasteful, and my arm muscle doesn't enjoy cranking out 8 large soy lattes with shots of chocolate, coconut, and vanilla, half-caff, for just a taste. DRINK UP, PLEASE. or just order a small.
& yet - i know that i was a part of their day. i provided that source of comfort - that sweet little taste, even if it was indirectly. & because of my great perky smiling skills that i have mastered down to a science, i usually can crank a dollar or two out of them.
the science of Getting Tips:
1. the faster you can tell a customer their total, the more chance of a better tip. everyone in america is programmed for instant information & gratification, so tell them their total ASAP. while they are counting out their money, take action. grab that chocolate chip cookie, begin that soy latte. they will look up to see their muffin practically jumping off their plate into their mouths, & they will be thrilled.
2. enunciate. each. word. calmly. no matter what the circumstances.
3. smile. pretend you are delighted to see them and make them believe they are the center of your entire universe, and that you would walk into oncoming traffic for them if it meant obtaining their coffee.
4. small talk. (for me, small talk is actually a result of pure curiosity. because all i ever do is work, and all the people i am ever exposed to aside from my family are customers, i am genuinely trying to get to know someone a bit more. however, this can also be easily faked through smiling, laughing at things that aren't that funny, & noticing your surroundings).
& now, the science of Getting Tips from Men: (p.s., i am sorry, men).
1. smile too much. way too much.
2. laugh at their joke ("joke" - i honestly never know if it's a joke or just a strange commentary. laugh at the method of introduction/moment of interaction) no matter how overly ridiculous, confusing & nonsensical it probably is. (today, i had a man walk up to me and do a three snap with the head side-to-side, "oh no you di-in't" sort of ordeal. he then confessed he had no idea where that came from. i certainly couldn't have told him either. laughing was pretty easy in this case.
3. wear good jeans. & a good shirt if possible. when we got new shirts in august, our tips increased by at least $15 per day. some of us at the cafe believe it's because of our lovely new counters, but M. & I secretly know better.
okay, just kidding, sort of. i am terrible.
but these days - they blend together so much that i get various events from various days mixed up into one. a woman who's sandwich was missing the tomatoes, where is that? oh wait, that was from 2 days ago. sorry sir, we're out of the chicken salad. wait no, that was yesterday. the decaf coffee needs to be ground up for tomorrow - oh wait, that thought was from last week. it's tuesday, not monday, and the broom is missing and the dish room was full to the brim five minutes ago.
dirty dishes. coffee grounds on the trash rims. coffee grounds on my jeans, over & over again. coffee grounds scraping my skin, scraping my dreams, caught deep beneath my fingernails, again & again.
these are my days.
i work so much that lately, i've started to dream about being at the cafe. i woke up the other night sitting perfectly upright, overturning my covers looking for a woman's salad she'd ordered.
my clock will read 3 a.m. & i'll quickly figure out how many hours i have left to sleep before i have to really be worrying about To Go salads and large iced teas.
i wake up an hour or two later, usually. same ordeal. stress. sometimes, i dream that i am driving to work, and in the distance, a large truck is swerving into my lane. or sometimes, i am driving and look up in time to see the bumper of the car in front of me just 5 feet away, and my car is going 60. i always wake up on impact.
regular customers are in my dreams now, too. anne - the salad & large iced tea lady. she's very nice, and i believe she works next door (many of the customers work Next Door, though I have yet to know what Next Door actually is. I like to imagine they are all architects - they strike me as designers). today, we were out of the salad she normally orders. i felt badly.
lately, i've noticed that people like to order large & extra complicated hot drinks, take two or three sips, & then leave. i don't know if it's pure luxury for them, but i think it's very wasteful, and my arm muscle doesn't enjoy cranking out 8 large soy lattes with shots of chocolate, coconut, and vanilla, half-caff, for just a taste. DRINK UP, PLEASE. or just order a small.
& yet - i know that i was a part of their day. i provided that source of comfort - that sweet little taste, even if it was indirectly. & because of my great perky smiling skills that i have mastered down to a science, i usually can crank a dollar or two out of them.
the science of Getting Tips:
1. the faster you can tell a customer their total, the more chance of a better tip. everyone in america is programmed for instant information & gratification, so tell them their total ASAP. while they are counting out their money, take action. grab that chocolate chip cookie, begin that soy latte. they will look up to see their muffin practically jumping off their plate into their mouths, & they will be thrilled.
2. enunciate. each. word. calmly. no matter what the circumstances.
3. smile. pretend you are delighted to see them and make them believe they are the center of your entire universe, and that you would walk into oncoming traffic for them if it meant obtaining their coffee.
4. small talk. (for me, small talk is actually a result of pure curiosity. because all i ever do is work, and all the people i am ever exposed to aside from my family are customers, i am genuinely trying to get to know someone a bit more. however, this can also be easily faked through smiling, laughing at things that aren't that funny, & noticing your surroundings).
& now, the science of Getting Tips from Men: (p.s., i am sorry, men).
1. smile too much. way too much.
2. laugh at their joke ("joke" - i honestly never know if it's a joke or just a strange commentary. laugh at the method of introduction/moment of interaction) no matter how overly ridiculous, confusing & nonsensical it probably is. (today, i had a man walk up to me and do a three snap with the head side-to-side, "oh no you di-in't" sort of ordeal. he then confessed he had no idea where that came from. i certainly couldn't have told him either. laughing was pretty easy in this case.
3. wear good jeans. & a good shirt if possible. when we got new shirts in august, our tips increased by at least $15 per day. some of us at the cafe believe it's because of our lovely new counters, but M. & I secretly know better.
okay, just kidding, sort of. i am terrible.
but these days - they blend together so much that i get various events from various days mixed up into one. a woman who's sandwich was missing the tomatoes, where is that? oh wait, that was from 2 days ago. sorry sir, we're out of the chicken salad. wait no, that was yesterday. the decaf coffee needs to be ground up for tomorrow - oh wait, that thought was from last week. it's tuesday, not monday, and the broom is missing and the dish room was full to the brim five minutes ago.
dirty dishes. coffee grounds on the trash rims. coffee grounds on my jeans, over & over again. coffee grounds scraping my skin, scraping my dreams, caught deep beneath my fingernails, again & again.
these are my days.
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