Seven Things This Barista Wants You to Know

I just celebrated my nine-year anniversary as a barista. 

I know, "what’s the opposite of congratulations?" Because I feel like that's what most people want to give me—like "ohh, 9 years... how about that?"

But being an grown-up barista isn’t always a bad thing. In fact, I enjoy it for the most part. I get a ton of free coffee, and it appears that people are really concerned with NOT pissing me off.

One search of "things that piss off your" gives barista top billing.

barista google

People are more concerned with not pissing off their barista, than their girlfriends, boyfriends, and/or husbands.

Guys, this kind of power is maddening.

But after clicking through some of the results from the search, I was extremely disappointed in the advice my fellow baristas were putting out into the universe. It was all, IT'S ESPRESSO, EXPRESSO. DON'T PAY ME IN NICKELS. 

Excuse me, have you been doing this job for approximately four minutes? Because as a veteran coffee wench I can say, for certain, that I don't care if you call it eXpresso, as long as I don't have to clean up any of your human waste. 

In fact, you can make absolutely zero eye contact with me, while talking on your cell phone, and paying me with car wash tokens, if you pee inside the toilet and not try to rob me.

My standards are extremely low, but here are some things I think you should know.


She's probably not gonna down on you. Probably.

You would be shocked at the amount of people who found this blog, and my previous blog of the same name, while searching for ways to have sex with their barista. (I see your googles, bruh.)

But it's probably not going to happen. I'm sorry your weird fetish won't be realized.

Mainly because we're covered in various syrups and smell like milk and summer-time dumpster, but also because you ordered a Strawberries and Creme Frappuccino. You can't try to smooth talk a coffee artisan while sipping on your $6 millennial pink milkshake. 

Don't shit on stuff.

It's upsetting as someone who doesn't have a child, just how often I have to deal with other people's excrement. However, it's more upsetting that people can pay $5 for a latte, but have no idea how to use a public restroom.

Did you have a full-blown seizure while you were in there? Do you asshole-specific Parkinson's? No? Then let me give you a crash course.

  1.  Sit down.
  2.  Do your business.
  3.  FLUSH. (you animals)
  4.  Wash hands. 
  5.  Leave.

Stop trying to levitate over the toilet. No one has ever contracted AIDS from pooping in a public restroom, unless their toilet seat was covered in dirty needles--in which case, it's probably best you wait until you get home.

Coffee is not a mood stabilizer.

Can we all stop pretending that coffee fixes people's defunct personalities.

I get it. Coffee Before Talkee. But if you can't function in the real world before you've had a sip of dark roast, you're not a caffeine addict. You're an asshole. Work on that. Maybe with a skilled therapist and a fistful of pills. 

Exchange pleasantries with us.

The answer to "Hi, how are you doing today?" is not "medium cappuccino."

So when I ask you the aforementioned question and you respond with medium cappuccino, I'm going to make sure that my co-worker wearing natural deodorant in Florida makes your drink. 

I understand to you I'm just some coffee robot who is paid solely to provide you with a service, but that doesn't mean that this coffee robot doesn't have feelings. Maybe I really do care how your day is, Jim! Maybe I really do care that your wife is screwing the dude that cleans your pool! Maybe I really do care that you haven't had a non-pharmaceutical-assisted erection in 12 years!

Nah, you're probably right, I don't care. Here's you're medium cappuccino that smells like raw onions.

STFU about the price. 

It is no secret, this dumb shit is expensive. I know this. You know this. And guess what? Complaining to the person at the bottom of the coffee-company food chain about the price of your latte is not going to change that.

Ohhh, you don't want to pay $7 for some caffeinated dumbuckery you're making me concoct because you saw it on Pinterest and want to stunt on the 'gram? Well, let me send slide into my CEO's DM and let him know. He definitely values my opinion. 

Don't give me money from your undergarments.

Nope. Don't do it. This does not need an explanation. I am ASHAMED of you and so is your mother.

Relax. It's just a name.

So I misspelled your name. It was Kimberly with a C and two EE's. 

My mistake, Cimberlee. But here's a thought, maybe I didn't misspell your name. Maybe your mom did. Take it up with her.  Also, it's loud in here. There are a ton of things going on--milk steaming, timers beeping, and you're talking like Marcel the Shell. Or maybe I'm stupid and don't know how to spell. Either way, it's not nice to spell-shame people.  

I once had a man tell me his name was Raleigh, but he knew I wouldn't spell it right because people always spelled it with an "R". I almost asked this man how one would go about spelling Raleigh without an "R", but then realized it literally didn't matter, wrote "Ralieigh no R" on the cup, and went home.

Life is too short, Cimberlee.

Why is Snowflake an Insult and Other Questions from 2012

I’ve been blogging again for about three weeks (yay!), and while I’m so excited to be back on my favorite place--the internet--I’d be lying if I didn’t say I have some concerns about the condition it’s been left in during my absence. 

For those of you that don’t know (because why would you?) I used to blog pretty regularly in the earlier part of the decade. It was a simpler time—mainly just Lindsay Lohan doing a ton of blow and Nyan Cat.

However, some time in the past few years, there's been a noticeable shift.

What happened? Why is everyone on vacation, selling shit to me through Facebook, or an ACTUAL nazi? Fine. Maybe not everyone, but far more than I’m comfortable with. 

Did broader access to high-speed internet really fuck us up as a country, because I’m thinking maybe it did. It’s like everyone’s really racist uncle ditched dial-up and decided to start sharing his opinions about “race mixing” on social media.

But it’s more than just blatant racism that’s spiked in numbers.

Why is every conventionally attractive girl I went to high school with just back from Cannes and really thinks this tea she’s selling will get me off sugar. Get 10% off with the code *HowTheFuckCanYouAffordThisLifestyle*

More questions: Why is everyone so good at applying makeup now? When did the succulent become the preferred plant of Instagram. WHY ARE THERE SO MANY NAZIS? Are we really just watching fetish videos of miniature food, pimple popping, and slime?

Did everyone get together and wear sweatpants outside and call it “streetwear”? FANTASTIC. That was actually a really GREAT CALL, guys!




The fact that people take pictures of their food now gives me life. I love an aesthetically pleasing plate of fancy-ass grub. But we have to stop pretending that all food is equal. Do not take a photo of your Lean Cuisine pizza and tag it #foodporn. I DON'T WANT YOUR CO-WORKERS MAKING FUN OF YOU.

If you want to document the time you made avocado toast on 75-grain artisanally-crafted bread baked by monks, then by all means, take that picture. In fact, let me step out of your natural light. You have some art to create.

BUT—I swear if I see one more of y’all take time out of your day to photograph your Beef Stroganoff Hamburger Helper on a paper plate talking about HOMECHEF OR WIFE ME UP, I’m going to start being mean as shit. You did not create that meal, a handless glove with a face did.

Learn healthy shame.



I could get my doctorate in Russian Literature for the amount of time I spend watching makeup gurus expertly apply a liquid line.

I could read books. Socialize with friends. Spend time with my family. Better myself.

But instead I choose to watch Nicole Guerriero beat her face for 3 solid hours. I'm not particularly good at makeup application. In fact, no matter how hard I try to give myself a crisp, winged eye, I always just end up looking like I've been day drinking. 

However, that's not the issue. The issue is that y'all have third-graders out here looking better on a Tuesday than I did on my wedding day. How are you six with a expertly blended contour?  Like, slay bitch, but you know this is not going to turn out well.


As a society, we need all of God's creatures to go through that ugly, awkward phase to prevent them from becoming attractive ass super-villians when they get older. Having yearbook photos taken while rocking an at-home bang and 17 coats of Great Lash mascara teaches people compassion. We need these years, so it doesn't become Gotham City around here.

Although, I’m willing to reconsider my opinion if one of you flawless toddlers is willing to teach me how to execute a perfectly symmetrical, classic cat-eye. Thanks a bunch, you little psychos.



When did going on vacation become a career choice? I don't remember any of my college advisors even mentioning it as an option. I feel bamboozled, AF.

My IG feed is filled with happy, tan bitches on beaches, who do not seem the least concerned with student loans. The posts are always captioned with things like, "Waking up is easy when your life is a dream." AND I HATE THEM SO MUCH, but it's the kind of hate that comes from admiration.

I need answers.

How did you do this? Will I have to sell detox tea? That's fine. I sell coffee now and mainly just get talked down to. Do you have a 401(k)? What is your relationship like with you father? What about the future? Are you eventually just going to get engulfed by the sea like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic?

I understand that wanderlust is a powerful affliction, but I also understand not wanting to suck dick to pay my rent, so I guess I'm out. Unless someone has the detox-tea hookup, in which case, I want y'all to ignore everything I said and just be happy for me.




Who let snowflake become a legitimate insult?

You just had to be like, "nope, that's weather." And move on. But now, it's everywhere and people are righteous in their belief that it's the BEST SHADE EVER THROWN. 

Some mouth-breather who boycotted Starbucks over a cup, thinks I'm unreasonable because I believe we shouldn't call every brown person a terrorist or be cool with wage inequality? 

Do you hear yourself? You're trying to insult someone for being a decent human being. GTFOH.

"Oh, I'm a snowflake for thinking everyone should have access to healthcare?" You got me, Jim, you silly son of a bitch. You got me.

This nonsense had me ready to quit the internet for good, but then I found all of these troll definitions for "Snowflake" on Urban Dictionary.


I take it all back. Internet you're amazing. I'll never leave again.

How NOT to Survive the Apocalypse


GUYS! I've been watching The Handmaid's Tale, and it has me shooketh.

Now I'm late to the game, so if anyone tells me what happens I will fight you. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm about to let you borrow my Hulu login because some things can not be explained with words--but I'm gonna try.

Basically it's the future. We did in fact, RUIN EVERYTHING, and now crazy Fundamentalist Christians run the joint and have taken fertile women hostage (in this future, most women are infertile) to be their at-home baby makers. It's absolutely as horrible as it sounds, and there's so much more to the story, but I'm getting the vibe that these ladies are about start fucking people up soon so... I'm watching with bated breath. You can check out the trailer below.

But none of this is the point, I only bring it up because watching this show has made me realize when the time comes, and the Earth crumbles around us, I'm going to throw myself off a bridge, okay? Okay.

Seriously, don't invite me to y'all's bunker parties, because I am absolutely not coming. I'm RSVP-ing "DEAD." Can we just stop trying to make surviving the Apocalypse/End of Modern Society/Authoritarian Dystopia happen? It's not going to happen. At least not for me.

There's been a pretty prevalent theme in entertainment centered around surviving the end of the world, but who are we kidding? Do you know what you would do if you were in the real-life Walking Dead, Paul? Piss yourself and then get eaten by a zombie. Stop pretending. But the real question is why would you want it any other way?

Every time I see Bear Grylls filter his own urine and fucking eat a buzzard because "what if?", I become even more adamant in my decision that if the time comes, I’m going lie down, try to look as delicious as possible, and wait for an actual bear to put me out of my misery. 

I mean, I only have so much fight in me. And what am I fighting for exactly? Is AC still a thing or am I going to be really sweaty until I die miserably of natural causes? Because if not, I just don't think it's worth it for me, personally. No judgement.

When that squishy little munchkin in N. Korea grabs a step stool and pushes that red button or ol' Don T. in DC covfefe's out the nuclear codes while he's on Twitter at 3 am, I'm just going to go outside and wait, because fuck having to repopulate the planet or not having wi-fi. What am I supposed to do? Talk to people? Face to face? Gross.

Maybe you think I'm wrong. Maybe you're a superior genetic specimen who will survive and thrive in the hellscape of our future. Well, I'm proud of you! You go, Glen Coco.

But for every Katniss Everdeen who could outrun a lion, there's a Velma from Scooby Doo who dropped her glasses and is now totally useless. That's me. I'm Velma. Unless this future dystopia needs people to make latte art or really fill out a turtleneck, I'm not going to be of any assistance. Side note: Did y'all know that the CEO of Reddit actually got laser eye surgery, because he was concerned about his ability to get contacts if some shit goes down. This is the world we live in.

Actually the world I live in is a little farther south, and it's going to get real scary down here, real fast. Because undoubtedly some guy named Bo has been buying his local Walmart out of bullets for the entire duration of the Obama presidency, and he makes the rules now. HELP.

I don't want anyone to think that I don't value my life or want to die, because that's not the case. Living is dope. I'm just realistic about who I am as a person. I grew up with parents who weren't great at paying bills or not getting arrested, so I was a survivalist before this shit was a fun hobby.

Once I moved out on my own, I put comfort and stability at the very tip-top of my priority list. And now I have ALL the luxuries afforded to me by my job as a grown-up barista. I’ve got Netflix and Hulu and HBO. I buy stupid sparkly water for $5 a bottle. I ALWAYS get guacamole at Chipotle. I also have reasonably fast wi-fi and extremely soft sheets that I got at Ross on the low. You get my point. I like moderately nice things. So the idea of wandering around trying to strategize how best not get eaten by someone just seems like a waste of time-- because I will get eaten. 



  • I THINK I'M BEYONCÉ. If the seas rise any more or Antartica gets another crack in it, I'm about to blow through Target like it is my job. FUCK SAVINGS. Seriously, I'm just going to go into Sephora and buy every GlamGlow mask they make. I'm about to go to Whole Foods and spend $17 on that freshly crushed peanut butter. I'm going to wild the whole fuck out.
  • HOW DOES TINDER WORK? There's only so many more times Don T. can tweet some dumb shit about countries with nuclear weapons before I download Tinder. I've been trying to ruin my self-esteem with dating apps for years, but my husband is a total cockblock and won't let me. But with him busy trying to plan his survival, guess who's about to get HPV from a stripper named Trevor with the IQ of a pencil? This girl. Peace out, World.
  • TELL EVERYONE I HATE THEM. I've worked my customer-service job for nearly a decade and that means I have a lot of people to tell how much I hate them before the world ends. "Ohhh, that doesn't have a price on it? You're right, George, it must be free! On second thought, I HATE YOU!"
  • TELL EVERYONE I LOVE THEM. I'm just kidding, guys. I'm actually really going to miss everyone. I love all of you. Especially the people who read my blog. I'm sorry I won't be going on this little adventure with you, but when I said I'd rather die than climb those three flights of stairs, I meant it. 


Good luck surviving your new barren wasteland.

I'm Old and I Blame Kylie Jenner

I'm Old AF, y'all.

Well, let me rephrase that, I'm young enough to know what "AF" means, but old enough to know that if I use it in front of a group of teenagers they'll probably make fun of me. Good luck buying your own beer, you ungrateful little a-holes.

Being in your early 30s is weird, man. Especially when you work with people who were born after TRL was a thing. The average age of my co-workers is at max 20 and nothing makes you feel screaming "GET OFF MY LAWN" like working with 20 year olds. Don't get me wrong, there's benefits. I now know who Lil Uzi Vert is--so that's something.

They also taught me how to use Snapchat, and now I spend exactly three hours a day putting different filters on my face to see which one makes me look like the most attractive/unrecognizable version of myself. I want to go to Sephora and find out what it would take to make me look as good as when I have a dog face, but it probably involves drinking water and taking care of my body--so yolo. Is that still a thing, Drake?

Now before you say it, I know my pre-menopausal ass should not be on Snapchat. I have zero business being on an app that at one time was solely used by middle-schoolers sending disappearing pictures of their genitals, but I can't help it. Snapchat makes me feel young again.

I've turned into my mother when she created her first--of five--Facebook profiles. (She makes a new one every time FB deletes her page, i.e. she forgets the password.) She was so excited. Her days were spent finding friends from high school and sending me posts about angels, who seem to have a vested personal interest in me liking and sharing posts about them. Go figure.

But it also didn't help that the New York Times was out here writing actual articles in their newspaper about how Snapchat was the new king of social media and Mark Zuckerberg could eat a bag of dicks or something. I was minding my own business, trying to ignore every block of text that included the words Donald and Trump and President (because I was flying through valium like candy), when they basically called me a nerd and forced me to download the app. 

Let me be honest for a moment, my biggest fear in life, aside from everything that is actually happening on this planet, is that one day I will not know what the aforementioned preteens I work with are talking about. And while you could not force me to watch the whole season of "13 Reasons Why". Cassettes, seriously? Even after death you're a pain in the ass or that Ludacris, the artist responsible for every time I got felt up in high school, is now hosting a remake of Fear Factor. What was that sound? Ohh, just my hip breaking. But I can't NOT know about these things. Because what would that mean? I'm actually in my 30s, and it's time for me to move on to the next chapter of my life.

Fuck you! I'm not ready for the next chapter!

What does it even entail? Do I have to start selling leggings on Facebook or even worse, have a kid. What else do people do in their 30s? Buy houses? With what money? You know we buy too much avocado toast. I actually started looking at houses with the dude that I live with, aka my husband, and literally had a panic attack after every single viewing. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. I'm aware this is unhealthy and probably something I should be discussing with a therapist instead of the internet, but mental well-being is hella expensive and last time I checked shrinks don't take monopoly money or cuddles, so now I'm just looking for a scapegoat. Someone that I can target all of my age-related frustration towards.

I think that someone is Kylie Jenner.

It's like one day I was young and no one was ever concerned about the viability of my eggs, and then the less conventionally attractive Jenner girl started over-lining her lips in the color DogShitBrown and made people pretend she was always racially ambiguous. We have pictures, Kylie! And then everyone lost their fucking mind and started wearing those stretchy tattoo chokers again. I wore those as a sexually-confident 13 year old, who had recently received a pair of gifts from boob Jesus. IT'S NOT TIME FOR THEM TO BE BACK YET!

Why is this happening to me?

Who can I blame for this? I swear on everything holy, Kylie, if this was your doing, I'm will beat you with a sock full of pennies--preferably one from your brother's sock line.

I may be overreacting, but It's a stressful time for some of us aging millennials. On one hand we're not following the the same script that was set in place by the generations before us, because they set the script on fire and are mad we aren't trying harder to put it out. I'm sorry we're killing off napkins and TGI Fridays, Linda. I wasn't too happy that you ruined the housing market or elected a reality star president.

So a lot of us are out here trying to figure it out for ourselves. Which explains why I'm a 31-year-old barista trying to be a writer--yes, I'm aware, I am the stereotype of all stereotypes.

But it's cool, because no matter what happens in the all the other aspects of my life, Snapchat is it for me. Whatever life-ruining garbage app comes after it, will not find its way onto my phone. Unless it's really cool, like an app that puts flower crowns on all unsolicited dick pics. However, if that doesn't happen, It'll just be me and my mom on Facebook, sharing posts about angels, and trying to figure out how to get past Kylie Jenner's security team.

 I'm coming for you, girl.