Posted 4 years, 4 months ago just before lunchtime by oso
Time for me to fall victim to that most unavoidable of blogging temptations: the rant. At work, a cafe:
Idiot 1: “What is it that smells like bacon?”
Me: “Bacon.”
Idiot 2: “What’s the difference between the 12 ounce cup and the 16 ounce cup?”
Me: “4 ounces.”
Idiot 3 (pointing to the middle column of cups, the one in between the small sized cups and the large sized cups): “What size of cup is that there?”
Me: “That’s the extra-extra-large.”
Idiot 3 (shocked beyond belief): “Well, what is that cup to the right?”
Me: “The extra-large.”
Idiot 3: “And to the left?”
Me: “The extra-extra-extra large.”
Idiot 3: “Y’all don’t just have a medium?”
Me: “We do, but it’s so small, you can’t even see it.”
These are exchanges which not only have happened, but do happen. Daily. On rare occasions, I do feel bad for these people. But mostly I have grown so accustomed to, so expectant of, their stupidity that I no longer smile in sweet sympathy as I mock them. Like an actor who has over-rehearsed his lines, I just stand there hoping for the exchange to expire as speedily as possible.
Other times, I can’t even believe what comes out of my own mouth. Not long ago I was asked, “hun, would you mind puttin’ that in a ceramic mug for me. I don’t know why, but it’s just so much nicer in one of them mugs you know?”
I say, dumbfounded by my own out-of-touchness even as I say it, “well, that’s just what society has conditioned you to believe. If we lived in a parallel universe that observed the scarcity and value of paper cups, you’d be saying the opposite.”
We then both make the same facial expression, concurring that I am 100% off my rocker.
Baristas, those of us who spend unquantifiable hours in front of the hissing, screaming, and sighing of an espresso machine, are known to have a surly, holier-than-thou attitude. I think I know why.
Our interactions with the human race take place at 20 second intervals. I talk with more people in one day than most accountants and government bureaucrats probably do in an entire month.
Those poor accountants and government bureacrats … Monday through Friday slaves of the cubiclesphere. And then comes Saturday and they remember what it feels like to be alive and they – all of them, the entire frickin’ San Diego workforce – decide to head to their neighborhood cafe with their spouse and their two snotty kids. They want a steaming hot cup of coffee, they want their favorite newspaper, they want the illusion of community, and – above all – they want the barista to laugh at their jokes.
That’s where I come in. I’m the one behind the counter. The one who got here at 6 a.m. to cut the bagels, put out the pastries, the chairs. You’re the one grabbing my tip bucket and laughing uncontrollably at the sticker that says “Tipping is sexy, sexy, sexy!” Now you’re showing it to your partner who has been staring at the drink menu for the past five minutes without ordering. Who has been standing in line for 15 minutes with a huge drink list in front of him. Who must so thoroughly enjoy choosing his drink this morning that he will do anything to delay that crucial moment: the one where I stop standing there like an idiot and can actually make his damn beverage.
For some reason, the ones who like to talk about tipping the most, practice it the least.
I say, “that’ll be $3.23 please.” Wanker says, “so, have you ever heard this one … ‘tipping, it’s more than a city in China’?” And then he starts laughing uncontrollably, his corporate gut shaking all over.
“Ha, yeah, I’ve heard that two or a three … hundred times. Um, $3.23 please.” But you can tell he’s been waiting all week for this.
“Ok, what about this one …” He’s got the five dollar bill in his hands, just out of my reach or I would snatch it from him like a snake striking a rat. “Thanks a latte …” His expectant eyebrows, my curling fist, and finally he hands over the money and stuffs the dollar seventy seven into his khaki dockers that are wedgied into his ass.
So you see, it’s not that I want to treat you like a naive nincompoop, just that I’ve come to expect little else. As popular as drinking coffee has become in the last several years, I feel like a state-sponsored etiquette and education campaign is in order. Something to stop people from asking me for a latte with lots and lots of foam. Or a hot cocoa with espresso … or even worse, with expresso.
Or, perhaps a better solution would be that I stop making coffee. Coming and going, I have worked in this industry since I was 16-years-old. Practically a decade. I belong to that select circle of veterans who have worked at nearly all the city’s independent coffeehouses. We see each other around town and we nod knowingly, never charging each other for the double espresso or cappuccino. But I think that the end of an era has arrived, ushered in by future ambitions rather than current discontent. Some of my happiest moments and warmest memories have occurred while at work, overcaffeinated and hyper-witty. I just hope that the memories stay with me and that I never – ever in my life – ask a barista if he’s heard of the one that goes, “tipping, it’s more than a city in China.”
There was one night, back when I was moving into the new place, that I was consumed by bad-moodness. Why lord, did you surround me with so much estrogen? That’s what I was asking my homeboy, Lord, on my way to the gym when I overheard two fresas de Tijuana who were standing in line for the Strokes concert at UCSD. “No manches guey, ¡mira! Osea, los Strokes guey, y estos monos van al gimnasio.” And then the other one with her god damned emphysemic jajajajaja’s. I was in such a bad mood that I wanted to take off the five inch heels of the first perra and stab it into her head. But I didn’t. I never do the things I want to: like impaling the heads of people who annoy me. Well, that pretty much sums it up, my state of being. Still here. Still waiting for the next big thing. Time to do my dance. Besos.
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A favorite entry on counter intelligence.
Best sentence: His expectant eyebrows, my curling fist, and finally he hands over the money and stuffs the dollar seventy seven into his khaki dockers that are wedgied into his ass.
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I feel so much for you (and when I say you, I mean the you and shot-pulling cadre) guys. Every time I go into a coffee shop, I watch baristas being abused – and not just normal retail abuse. People feel the same holier-than-thou attitude toward baristas that the baristas, apparently, feel toward the yet-to-be-caffeinated consumer. This, happily, does not happen as much at independent coffee shops.
I liked the rant though, it reminded me of one I read earlier today by a wine store retailer, ranting against stupid consumers. Message from the Retailer
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That’s the last time I wear 5 inch heels around you.
Oso, I’ve missed your writing. Why is that all my favorites are so slow these days?
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My fav joint in Los Angeles is this swanky little hipster/producer spot called the Bourgeois Pig. I never feel cool there. Why? Because the baristas are always at ease, put up with no bullshit, and recognize that we, the consumer, are just lost; probably stumbling in because we have no where else to go. They are quite suave to say the least.
I don’t think I’ve ever cracked jokes, but I’ve tried to strike up pathetic conversation like if they want to hear it. Honestly, I’m probably trying to just interact with something in this damn city. Those poor baristas have to deal with the excess baggage of societies waist-line: the over-analytical caffeine fiend that most of us coffeehouse patrons are.
That reminds me, what happened to you coming down to Los Angeles? I hear Revaz is heading down to San Diego this weekend. ¡Bueno pues, para la proxima le dices al idiota k se sirva su propio cafe! Salud tio.
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Well I don’t know what makes people think they are so much better then the person behind the counter. I think everyone needs a chance to deal with each other’s stupidity so that we can respect each other more as a community. In retail I recently has a “psycho hose beast” (drop dead fred movie) chase me around telling me I lied to her about finding an article of clothing..I looked at her and said, “I’m sorry that you think I lied, but you’ve got your pants now, so walk up to the front of the store..cash out and leave.” She had the audacity to call me stupid..and mock the lack of educated people..little does she know about me. So I say this…para el carajo todos esos imbesiles! People will always be ignorant..because that’s just society’s way.
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http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0101775/ Oppsy here’s the link I meant!
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rants are welcome as long as they are funny. this one was great. but i agree with cindylu, never wear tacones around you! wouldn’t want to fall prey to a sudden snappy oso.
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Hahaha. I’m married to an ex-barista, so I’m familiar with the rage. I thought though it was limited to my long-suffering wife. Clearly not. Nice to see the male perspective so now I know what those surly guys are thinking when I ask for my triple grande 140-degree almond soy latte.
I love the image though of a secret society of shot pullers. Very “Crying of Lot 49.” You should come up with your own secret sign. Invokable even in a Starbucks…by those who can recognize it.
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I don’t know how people work in customer service. God Bless you all! I could do it when I was younger, but as I get older I tend to snap faster and I can’t put up with half of the people in this world. A friend use to always say, “Don’t forget your smarter then 99% of the people out there.”
I use to work at a Thrift Store when I was in HS. . I worked there for 3 years, even as I type this I can’t believe I even put up with half the crap that was thrown out at me. You have to be a very patient person when you work in Customer Service. You know how they say that people with dogs live more then people without. Maybe people who work in Customer Service live longer then people who have dogs. You know what that means, you’ll have time to meet more fresas. . .O sea. . .va enserió, si?
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Don’t quit before I have a chance to have you draw me a nice cup of espresso with lots of “crema”. And I promise I will tip you well without any commentary.
You must admit, though, for every skilled coffee artisan, there are quite a few simpletons who still put the X in espresso. So the cynicism can go both ways. Nonetheless, I treat everyone with respect and I am always thankful for my caffeine fix, whether it comes with foam, chocolate, or an X where there should be none.
As to the fresas, I am quite sure you misquoted them. I have no doubt that they referred to the band as “Los E-strokes”.
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Patri,
I must admit, “donate to counter-intelligence” is one of the better tip jar slogans I’ve seen.
Greg,
I remember our conversation at Stratford when I told you I thought that wine parlance was just a bunch of pseudo-sophistication about grape juice gone bad. But, truth is, I’m equally snobby about the bean. I’ve read Mark Pendergrast’s Uncommon Grounds, I’ve ventured through the sub-tropical collectives of Chiapas’ hills, and if my cappuccino foam isn’t the right consistency (even when using tough-to-froth half and half), I’ll throw it out and start over.
What I’m saying is that there’s hope for me and that one of these days I’ll invest more than $5 on a bottle of wine. Then again, that article you linked to says “the path to a great bottle of wine is fraught with pitfalls and bear traps.” Why do they have to always single us out?
Cindylu,
If you don’t wear 5 inch heels around me you won’t even reach my shoulders. HIYO!
Alejandro,
I really wish I could remember what happened in Los Angeles. The pictures on my camera, however, reveal that I was in fact there. Next time. Is Bourgeois Pig on Melrose? It sounds so familiar to me. LA’s got some great hidden spots.
Yolanda,
Psycho hoes are my favorite kind.
Jennifer,
As long as you’re not talking with 10 of your fresa friends inside of Sanborns, you’re probably safe.
Joel,
Do you ask for almond or orgeat? Can you properly pronounce orgeat? I can only imagine how many lattes you’re drinking a day right now. Which reminds me, you shouldn’t be reading this.
CAD,
It requires the subtle art of making fun of people without them realizing it entirely … or at least until later. When some businessman with a briefcase comes in with one of those damn cyborg ear pieces for his cell phone and tries to order his latte while he’s on the phone, I ignore him completely.
Then, feigning innocence, I say, “oh, so sorry about that, I thought you were on that fancy walkie talkie with your laser tag buddies.” The trick is to always be wittier and more caffeinated than the consumer.
Xolo,
Not only our there a ton of baristas who are a disgrace to the trade, but I have made many of my own faux pas during la pedida de comida. I distinctly remember being in some drive-thru window at a McDonalds with Abogado in Utah or Wyoming. It was halfway through a day-long drive and I desperately needed a soft-serve to keep me going behind the wheel. I asked him if he wanted anything and he said, “yeah, grab me a McNasty.” (it was the year of a temporary sandwich known as the McTasty). Without even thinking about it, I ask for a McNasty and of course he starts cracking up. The person working the window didn’t think it was so funny though.
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have you guys heard of this place Dunkin Donuts? its a little place around the corner from my work. they have great coffee and donuts, and the people there are nice because i think they get paid a lot. i think the owner of the store works the cash register. y’all should check it out. you should also check out los e-strokes. they have this one song thats reall good. it sounds like all their other songs. i listen to it while i workout at the gym.
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Dearest Oso, I would like to know how would you call the non-government bureacrats! procrasturbators? Hey, I love that word
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I feel your pain!! Keep your head up dude ; )
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I worked at a place called “Gloria Jean’s coffee beans” in high school. I know that you would not qualify that as being a “barista” but I was charged with the impossible task of dealing with big-haired, rich old Houston ladies who would make me pour out stuff I made, saying things like “Ah haiv lee-uhv-d een Your-up aind thi-us ain’t no ‘Amair-ee-can-oh’”.
I think I would have preferred corporate tools over that any day. Just give thanks that you live in California and don’t have to say things like “Would you like extra Oreos in your Mint Chocolate Chiller?”
Worse than all of this is a Gloria Jean’s (or a Starbucks) in Mexico, frequented by the fresas you speak so positively of. 30 pesos for a cappuccino as a status symbol.
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Dude, Gloria Jean’s was my favorite hangout in Malaysia. I can absolutely picture you in their cute little uniforms.
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When I lived in Seattle, the baristas made pretty swirls in the foam with a smile and the scent of ground coffee was aromatherapy. In sandiego I gave up the stuff altogeher. To quote, You do it to yourself…and that’s what really hurts.
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David-
You should write a book. You can title it something like “Memoirs of a Barista”, or “The CoffeeHouse: Stories from the Trenches”.
Then you can move to Argentina and work as a “coffee server” there. Because they don’t call ‘em baristas there too, do they?
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a very delightful post oso. you made me laugh. i could never understand why anyone would be rude to the person handling their food or in your case coffee.
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you complain about the attitude of the costumers, but you have an worst attitude than them. what a pathetic existence. wishing for some human contact, when all people want is their coffee. face it, you cant be friends with all tellers and be merry and happy all day. get over it looser. the same fot all the people who feel empowered when being served by a waiter or a “barista”. pathetic.
post was good for laughs, tanks for that. but not much else.
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dude, really get another job, get a life.
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yirishud/said,
I may be a looser, but yo momma is the loosest. HIYO!
Indeed, tanks for your comment.
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That’s more than can be said for my posts. No tanks for me.
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Howdy Oso. Long time, no write… no read. Me sounding more, like Code Monkey song.
Anyhow, your post drew my attention… perhaps the problem between baristas and customers is an issue of trust:
Each party shows a bit of a condescending attitude towards the other… and it is all an issue of trust. Baristas don’t trust in customers that seem to not know what they want. Customers want to feel unique and they trust themselves to find out what they want.
But perhaps your experiences and those from other people could/should inspire a book of common knowledge:
“The Complete Idiot’s Guide To ‘Being American’”. With whole chapters dedicated to the standard sizes of cups… The genius invention of the ’spork’… and other important stuff.
Best wishes (that your customers become less dumb…). A big hug from Monterrey… virtual beer enclosed in attachment.
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Rolando,
Funny, I was just reading your thoughts on the presidential debate earlier today. Always lovely bumping into old cuates on the net. Being on the barista side of the aisle, I think you really nail it with “customers want to feel unique.” People get so possessive about their favorite cafe it’s really pretty incredible. And you’re right, sometimes I’m afraid of being too nice to someone ’cause I think it’ll make them feel entitled later on.
Un abrazo y una Indio,
os
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Idiot 3 (pointing to the middle column of cups, the one in between the small sized cups and the large sized cups): “What size of cup is that there?”
Me: “That’s the extra-extra-large.”
Idiot 3 (shocked beyond belief): “Well, what is that cup to the right?”
Me: “The extra-large.”
Idiot 3: “And to the left?”
Me: “The extra-extra-extra large.” Idiot 3: “Y’all don’t just have a medium?”
Me: “We do, but it’s so small, you can’t even see it.”
OK so I have a theory on this. As a fellow barista, this is something I too have seen, and I think I know what its all about. There is a correlation between avoidance of saying cup sizes (ie small, medium, large) and being a Starbucks regular. Really its part of the genius of their corporate strategy. Not only do you not feel somehow inadequate if you want a small, because its not small, its tall (or something like that), but they train you in ordering at their establishment in a way that you feel uncomfortalbe if you go somewhere else. You’ve completely forgotten how to order in plain fuckin English. If someone tells me they want a grande, they gettin a friggin large cup, and if they complain, thats their problem. The result, people realize that everytime they go to Starbucks they know how to order the Starbucks way, and everytime they go somewhere else they make a fool of themselves, and so they take refuge in their comfrot zone and stop going other places. Thats my two pennies.
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Idiot 4: Hi, can I have a tall latte
Me (pointing to the cups): how tall do you want your latte
Idiot 4 (pointing to the smallest cup): that one there
Me: homes, even in the most napoleonic of terms, that ain’t tall. what do they give you when you ask for a short one?
Catatu-san, a blog awaits you – it’s so obvious.
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Mmmm… “abrazo and Indio”. XD.