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.