A brief salute to the hardest working, under-appreciated members of the downtown workforce:
The coffee jockeys.
These are the people who without batting nary an eyelash, nor roll of eye, will take an order for a “large, carmel, double-vanilla whip, latte -- with a hazelnut flavor shot. And can you make sure the milk is heated to 103.5 degrees?”
They do so without ever once reaching over the counter to bitch-slap a customer, even those who request a beverage that takes longer to order, than it does to actually make.
I salute you coffee jockey for your infinite patience and restraint.
2 comments:
I love my coffee shop workers. Usually I'll even get a crush on the girls. Which means I'll go a lot more often and have conversations with them in my head, but when the time comes to say anything I'll just sheepishly ask for a cookie.
Oh B, you're such a stud that I'm sure you only order "Coffee, Black, no funny stuff".
Right?
I don't want to think of you as a "Half-caf, caramel mocha mochaccino gaybev" kind of guy...
That would just break my heart.
;)
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