strike that

indiscretion

I broke an unspoken item of the Universal Barista Code tonight. In fact it may even be a spoken item, but I don’t hang out with many other baristas. Either way I’m sure it’s on there. I went out with a customer.

It wasn’t even really a date (though he did present me with a pocket-sized Portland bicycle map when we met up). All the same I feel guilty for doing anything that might even indirectly encourage coffee shop patrons to proposition their baristas. The barista/patron relationship is based on a delicate balance of affection that can only be maintained if all involved parties recognize its context and its limits. Suggest carrying that relationship outside the café and the whole thing falls to pieces.

That said, I sheepishly admit that there are several Celia’s customers whom I think are the cat’s pajamas. There’s the morning mocha guy with the kind eyes, and the bagel guy with the dog, and the guy who asks about my book. And then there’s this guy, who actually was never on the list because he rarely comes by when I’m working. But he’s from Louisiana, and we got to talking about that once, and somehow decided to continue the conversation over a beer.

We met for this beer tonight on the heatlamped back terrace of a local pub. In no time the Portland Mercury was spread open on the table and we were debating destinations for the evening, and after a bit of driving around to Eagles of Death Metal we settled on the Laurelthirst for a band named after the Canadian Mounties. And I have no idea what this is about, really, because he reminds me a little too much of Chief O’Brien from Star Trek the Next Generation and furthermore his accent is so thick I miss half the things he says. And yet somehow the conversation kept going, and also he likes to dance.

But don’t tell the other baristas. And for God’s sake don’t tell any of the guys with crushes on them.

posted by tortaluga @ 1:44 AM