strike that

calling

Ron who owns Celia’s rang me up last Friday and asked if I could sub today for one of the other baristas. I said of course, even though it involved missing a morning meeting at the city job, even though I missed a different meeting last Thursday when I played hooky, even though it meant I’d have to make up the hours at other less convenient times this week. Partly because my truck insurance payment is due, but mostly because I love working at Celia’s. I wake up at five a.m. eager to go.

I had a friend in college named Christina, and Christina was a fashionista who loved to shop and loved shoes and always had the newest makeup colors. (How is it possible that there are always new makeup colors?) She was also a straight-A biology major who later went on to get a PhD in neuroscience. And one time sipping milkshakes at Tom’s Diner, Christina told me that she wished she wasn’t quite so smart, because really she would like to work behind a makeup counter.

I don’t think Christina would have been particularly happy behind a makeup counter long-term, and I don’t think I’d be satisfied as a barista full-time. But it would not be inaccurate to say that working at Celia’s is sometimes the working highlight of my week. In my ordinary life I enjoy both people-watching and talking to strangers, and at Celia’s I get to do both, for seven hours in a row, while sipping tasty hot beverages and getting tips.

There is something very intimate about the coffee drinker / barista relationship. It’s like the rapport people have with a hairdresser or a bartender, but on a daily basis and at a more vulnerable hour. When my customers come in the door, I know who has had a rough night and who is well rested. I know who has had sex. I know whose baby won’t sleep. I know who is ready for their day, and who is fearing a confrontation with their boss. And as the day goes on, I watch people get ready for interviews and have lunch meetings and look for jobs, and I overhear blind dates. I hear couples squabble and other couples support each other. I know who reaches for their wallet. I see how people treat their children, and their friends, and people they don’t know.

Customers talk to me about their kitchen renovations, and their weddings, and their neighbors. Sometimes they talk about AA and Weight Watchers and ex-husbands and abusive parents. At first I would respond with stories of my own, but I quickly realized that’s not what they need. What most people need most in the middle of the day is someone who is interested in them. And I am.

Last week I was talking to Jake, who is getting his masters in education to be a fourth grade teacher. Why fourth grade? I asked. Fourth grade kids can act out, he explained, but they’re just really great and cool and fascinating, and what they need most of all is someone who simply listens to them.

So.

posted by tortaluga @ 10:50 PM