well, i can finally stop daydreaming that you'll come through those doors and order a hot coffee with soy & smile at me with your goofy grin.
it's always liberating when we can finally let go of the ones we love and love to hate, but love & love, even if he leaves you on sides of roads in upstate new york, even if he loves another girl at the same time as he loves you, & even if he stomped on your heart more than once.
& i mean really let go. they'll always be there, in the back of our minds and somewhere in a crevice in our hearts, but when that door of hope, of chance, of maybe someday closes, it's liberating.
i recently let go of someone i held tightly to for two years, and i feel like i am finally waking up from a long, heavy sleep. i can stretch my arms wide, yawn a big yawn, and drink some serious coffee (while running around and pouring it for others, of course) and know there is a new day ahead.
The Boy from Next Door has not come in now for approximately a week and a half. this entirely bums me out. he's one of the customers that i'd love to sit down and just talk with. just shoot the shit with. sip coffee with. because we begin these conversations that we both know could be afternoon-long conversations, and it's too bad that i am stuck behind the counter and beneath my dinky hat, and he is stuck behind Next Door & what i imagine must be a cubicle and things of Importance, like building structures and circumferences and floor plans. perhaps.
he wears good shoes.
we just hired a new girl. i really like her. she's one of those incredibly positive, upbeat people that can laugh at everything and make those around her drop their cranky moods and smile a little. it's a nice change.
i've grown increasingly curious about mothers who bundle their at least 4 children, all under the ages of 4, into extensive, complex strollers & insist on maneuvering them up the stairs, through the narrow doorways of the cafe, and into the middle of the already very crowded dining room. they especially like to park their mini-van sized strollers next to the elderly couples reading their papers. it's kind of humorous to watch - the kids spill out into the dining room, usually bouncing & yelling, sometimes climbing on the counter & reaching into the tip jar (yes, this happened more than once), and the mother usually has to tend to Baby that is bundled in at least 10 layers of outdoor clothing, & the old couples shift uncomfortably in their chairs, trying to pretend the escapade does not actually exist & that they are not annoyed by it, & that the child dropping their hot chocolate all over the floor is not a source of stress, & that the mother has not escaped this reality via her iphone. not only is their entrance a show in itself (with the stroller, screaming children, diaper bags, bottles, purses, & not to mention the winter gear - mittens, hats, snowpants, runny noses, sleds, snow, boots) but their orders are so complex that i'd sometimes rather be sitting in a calculus class back in high school, or licking a toilet seat.
"i want a kid's pb&J, but without the jelly, & with extra chunky peanut butter, & i want one half of the bread toasted & one half cold, & it needs to be cut into eighths or else he won't eat it. & i want a skim latte but i want it half decaf and i want the milk only warmed to 150 degrees, exactly."
after listing various other complexities at an astounding 10 words per second, they generally proceed to walk away after this. this is because a) they believe they own the place/the world & b) because their children have decided to lick and blow breath steam clouds onto the glass cake cases and draw pictures in them. of course, this usually gets a nonchalant, 'oh honey, don't touch the glass' before the iphone sucks them back in.
the coffee must be just that good.
& beyond the walls of the cafe: i star-gazed with a friend last night. i showed him orion's belt, among other constellations. i saw a shooting star. there's nothing more gratifying than just looking at the sky at night in the winter. clear, vast, with those little breath-cloud interruptions. he also brought me an orchid in a shot glass of water, which i found to be strangely romantic & also just strange. a cop did make an appearance while we were star gazing to ask us what, exactly, we were doing, & "if we were okay?" i think everybody should star-gaze on a weekly basis, & always with someone else.
that, & i've been doing some serious modest mouse listening.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
A portrait of my daydreams.
Every day, I still (still!) imagine you walking through the doors. The little bell rings, & in the back of my mind, I hope to see your face in the next customer - that I'll look up from making that egg-nog latte to see you standing there, arms crossed, brown messy hair, goofy grin & all.
I am so interested in the way our hearts ache for people - even after years have passed (two, in this case).
We always loved coffee. You introduced me to it.
You'd really love where I'm at, I'd say, if we still spoke. Because I know that you would go gaga for this coffee, & that you'd have it with soy milk.
That, & hey, M.P. whatcha up to, & how ya been?
I am so interested in the way our hearts ache for people - even after years have passed (two, in this case).
We always loved coffee. You introduced me to it.
You'd really love where I'm at, I'd say, if we still spoke. Because I know that you would go gaga for this coffee, & that you'd have it with soy milk.
That, & hey, M.P. whatcha up to, & how ya been?
When the world hands you lemons, make lemonade.
I've made so many lattes & cappuccinos that I can actually create little works of art with the foam/espresso. I LOVE it. Pouring in the espresso, dark, black, that brown cream on top. Pouring the milk on top, a rich mixture of brown, white. Blending, swirling, hot. If I twirl the spoon through the top of the foam, I can create a beautiful swirl. I even created a heart the other day - sort of by accident, sort of not. I always like to see what shapes will occur naturally from the pouring of the milk into the espresso...& then maybe help them out a little into forming something interesting.
I love making lattes.
Today, I drove to the cafe & looked at the beautiful snow along the tree branches. A white world. It was so refreshing to wake to - & so early in the morning, I felt like my eyes were the first to see the world covered for the first time this year.
When I got to work, I walked down the stairs, & the smell of the stairs brought me back to summer. I could almost feel the sweat that would start back in July as I walked through the doors. & when that smell hit me, & i was brought back to so many months ago, I suddenly realized just how much time has passed.
Six months.
Six months ago today, I was lying in a grassy backyard, staring up at the sunshine, laughing with my roommates. We were finished with college. Done. Nothing to do, not a care in the world. Accomplishment, wine & sunshine, love & friends. I remember I was wearing a blue dress, & I felt pretty, & I didn't know who C was, or the difference between a latte and a cappuccino, & i certainly couldn't feel or see every single rib in my body, & i didn't know what it meant to push my body to extreme limits, or how to be firm with people, or how to do quick math or lie on the spot, or the numbers and varieties of coffees, & most importantly, the taste of a GOOD cup of coffee, & how to identify a bad cup of coffee.
& i certainly didn't know how to make an art-gallery-caliber latte.
& this is all I have. Apparently, the world decided to hand me espresso. & so - I make lattes [for now].
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
From a Lake at Midnight
and it is in these days that blend together - that seem and feel and look painfully too similar, that i've started to learn.
for the first time in my life, ever, i've started to feel a new pull inside of me. something is growing there, something that needs to emerge and that i know will emerge. for the first time in my life, i am experiencing what i believe is a pull towards spirituality - towards acknowledging and putting faith in something deeper than the every day blur.
i don't know if this is a result of unplugging a bit from technology (okay, the HBO show True Blood has been taking up the vast majority of my free time, but in retrospect, my "free time" is roughly 3 hours a day, if that). i don't know if it's the fact that my life feel very monotonous and repetitive, and that as a result, i am learning to find things between the lines. i don't know if it's because i met someone and it was once again, too good to be true. it may be because i am suddenly out of touch with most of my once closest friends, and not by choice (& i am beginning to get tired of waiting, hanging on, wondering, making the phone calls...).
whatever it is, i do feel a big change occurring inside of me. a step towards something. i feel as if i have finally started down a path i've never dared venture - the path of getting to know Myself. Once and for all.
on friday night, i sat beneath tiny bulb lights listening to jazz notes, letting a beautiful boy hold my hand in his. his hands were warm and i noticed how small mine looked in his. i felt magical. he pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and told me to write about the Now. i hastily scribbled something in nearly illegible handwriting about trying to hear what lies between the spaces in each note. i felt silly. at set break, we sat on the trunk of his car and looked for the stars, except there weren't any because it was cloudy, and he began reciting Rilke from memory. (yeah, this one really caught my attention).
we then drove to an overview of a lake. it was midnight. it was just us. us two, side by side, the lake, and the trees, and the night and the star-less sky, and our breath clouds rising into the night. we just stood and stared, and that was probably the moment i realized that in the midst of my day to day sameness, void of visible change or promise of light at the end of the tunnel, i have matured - and i am learning how to live in the moment.
because there was nothing more still and more clear to me in that moment - the stilled ground, the still dark, my breath so evident and so crystal clear. it was as if we were the last people on earth. i was reminded that in the midst of the daily grind, i'm still alive and living and my mind is still flowing.
i needed that reminder.
& what's more, it was so beautiful to experience this stillness with another human being. & he knew it too. we will be forever interconnected in this way, in this sort of silent understanding we both had of each other and the night. we are both locked in this moment in time (& i think it's so sad that we cut ourselves off from one another via various technological means). we are all so close, yet we keep one another at such a distance (i will write more on this later). it was so nice to be.
the days might be blending together, but i know now that i am growing more distinct, more sharply outlined against the future, whatever and wherever it is.
for the first time in my life, ever, i've started to feel a new pull inside of me. something is growing there, something that needs to emerge and that i know will emerge. for the first time in my life, i am experiencing what i believe is a pull towards spirituality - towards acknowledging and putting faith in something deeper than the every day blur.
i don't know if this is a result of unplugging a bit from technology (okay, the HBO show True Blood has been taking up the vast majority of my free time, but in retrospect, my "free time" is roughly 3 hours a day, if that). i don't know if it's the fact that my life feel very monotonous and repetitive, and that as a result, i am learning to find things between the lines. i don't know if it's because i met someone and it was once again, too good to be true. it may be because i am suddenly out of touch with most of my once closest friends, and not by choice (& i am beginning to get tired of waiting, hanging on, wondering, making the phone calls...).
whatever it is, i do feel a big change occurring inside of me. a step towards something. i feel as if i have finally started down a path i've never dared venture - the path of getting to know Myself. Once and for all.
on friday night, i sat beneath tiny bulb lights listening to jazz notes, letting a beautiful boy hold my hand in his. his hands were warm and i noticed how small mine looked in his. i felt magical. he pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and told me to write about the Now. i hastily scribbled something in nearly illegible handwriting about trying to hear what lies between the spaces in each note. i felt silly. at set break, we sat on the trunk of his car and looked for the stars, except there weren't any because it was cloudy, and he began reciting Rilke from memory. (yeah, this one really caught my attention).
we then drove to an overview of a lake. it was midnight. it was just us. us two, side by side, the lake, and the trees, and the night and the star-less sky, and our breath clouds rising into the night. we just stood and stared, and that was probably the moment i realized that in the midst of my day to day sameness, void of visible change or promise of light at the end of the tunnel, i have matured - and i am learning how to live in the moment.
because there was nothing more still and more clear to me in that moment - the stilled ground, the still dark, my breath so evident and so crystal clear. it was as if we were the last people on earth. i was reminded that in the midst of the daily grind, i'm still alive and living and my mind is still flowing.
i needed that reminder.
& what's more, it was so beautiful to experience this stillness with another human being. & he knew it too. we will be forever interconnected in this way, in this sort of silent understanding we both had of each other and the night. we are both locked in this moment in time (& i think it's so sad that we cut ourselves off from one another via various technological means). we are all so close, yet we keep one another at such a distance (i will write more on this later). it was so nice to be.
the days might be blending together, but i know now that i am growing more distinct, more sharply outlined against the future, whatever and wherever it is.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A Day of Absurdity
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)