To This Morning’s Barista:

Here’s a dirty little pleasure of mine—there is a Starbucks right across the street from my building, and I have a problem.

I limit myself to twice a week, tops. Yeah, that’s right. In order to save our household budget-- and my health-- I’ve made myself the equivalent of an addict visiting the methadone clinic.

Most times I just order straight coffee and I’m out the door. I love the bitter quality of their coffee, whereas most people don’t. I think I’ve grown used to bitter by drinking too many gin and tonics and modified Hemingway’s in the summer.

Great—this is supposed to be a post about coffee, and I’ve already alluded to drugs and alcohol. I set a fabulous example, don’t I, kids?

I promise—I don’t take drugs, and I do not have a drinking problem. I am addicted to Starbucks, remember?

Visiting as regularly as I do, they get to know you, and you get to know them. We’re not on first name basis, and they don’t shout my name (NORM!) when I walk through the door, but the looks say recognition on both sides of the counter.

As with anything else, there are some people you like, and some people you don’t. Most of the people working there I like, three I don’t.

I did order myself a fancy drink this morning, and I was waiting for my (meds) coffee, watching the three individuals I don’t like idly gang up on one of the people I do (who was actually working, solo, given that the no-likes could not be deigned upon to provide their assistance). I won’t go into the details, but it was in front of the customers, it made me think of the evil step-sisters in Cinderella, and it was enough for any rational person to want to smack them upside the head.

The man waiting patiently at the counter beside me (who IS on first name basis with the baristas) quietly asked our nice, hard-working barista, “Is it always like this for you?”

She replied, “More often than not.” Calm. Collected. Matter of Fact.

Serene. Seriously?

The look on my face must have been, well, something—horrified, sorrowful, shocked, awestruck—whatever. She smiled serenely at me and asked, “Do you want an extra shot, on the house, hon?”

Did I mention I have a problem? Sure, why not?

If given two more minutes, I would have been able to come up with something cognizant, powerful, and life-altering to say. I’m sure of it. But I didn’t come up with it then, so I thanked her, grabbed my (poison) coffee, and walked out the door.

So I will say some things now (although I still have not come across that poignant utterance quite yet):
I’m sorry you have to put up with that. They’ll get theirs in the end. Do you want me to key their cars? It’ll get better soon. You’ll look back on this and laugh.

Here is something better:
In one little ordinary, everyday moment, your grace and composure taught me a life lesson I did not even expect this morning. Thank you for that. I promise I will never forget it.