Respect Thy Coffee

As a barista, it's no secret that I've grown to have a passion for coffee and espresso. I take great pride in delivering the perfect cappuccino and I appreciate it when other baristas do the same. I try not to be a coffee snob though. I don't expect perfection every time I visit another caffe. But. I do expect a certain amount of professionalism and basic food handling precautions to be taken. And I expect my coffee to be hot. Call me crazy, but lukewarm coffee is not really my thing.

Maybe I should start from the beginning.

A few months ago I was headed to a busstop and arrived about 20 minutes early. There was a caffé on the corner (I'll not mention the name) and I decided to grab a quick cup of coffee. I ordered three shots of espresso over ice. It took nearly 10 minutes to get my drink. There was nobody in line ahead of me. When I was handed my cup, it appeared as though there was maybe a half an inch of espresso in the bottom. I asked the barista, as nicely as I could, "Um... is this three shots?" His response, "Uh yeah, is there a problem?" Yes. Yes, there is a problem! "Well, it's just that I'm a barista as well and three shots of espresso usually adds up to a bit more liquid than this..." With a snarky and pretentious tone he responded "Oh, well we pull all of our shots as ristretto."
"Whatever."

First of all, if I wanted ristretto shots (basically, short shots) I would have asked for that. And if I had asked for ristretto shots, I would still have expected more coffee in my cup than what was handed to me. Pompous ass.

But my story doesn't end there! I decided to give them another shot. Again, I arrived at my busstop early and wanted to purchase a bottle of water. I figured it was just water, already bottled. All they had to do was ring me up for it. Simple, right? There were only three people ahead of me. However, I failed to recognize that it was "Get to Know Your Barista and Every Trial and Tribulation in His/Her Life Day". I stood in line for 20 minutes before I gave up. I can't believe I held out that long.

And then there was last Saturday morning. The most egregious of the offenses. I left my apartment early, planning to have enough time to grab a cup of coffee from Macrina Bakery before my bus left. Macrina has always done a good job. Macrina was always professional. Macrina was packed. I opened the door and realized there was no room to stand, let alone enough time to let the crowd thin out so I could get my coffee. I left. Without my precious cup of coffee. I walked to my destination, all the while craving a double 8oz mocha. I could feel the caffeine headache begin to set in. I had 15 minutes before my bus arrived. Out of desperation I gave "nameless" caffé one final chance.

I entered the shop and got in line. Two people ahead of me. *Please let this go quickly and smoothly* The credit card machine ran out of paper. The blonde bimbo (I can call her this because I am also a blonde and her fingernails were painted green and chipped) at the register couldn't figure out how to load a new roll of paper. She couldn't get the paper to feed through the machine correctly. After struggling for 2 minutes, the guy at the bar reached over, dropped the roll in and shut the lid. Easy. Apparently too easy.

I finally get to the front of the line and the blonde bimbo is ignoring me and trying to do some quick cleanup. Okay. Fine. I understand wanting to keep the workspace clean. But you should probably at least acknowledge your customer. Nope. Not even eye-contact. She then preceded to pick up two steam pitchers, not by their handles, but by sticking her fingers with chipped, green-painted fingernails INTO the pitchers. Ew. Not only are you not supposed to be wearing fingernail polish when working as a food handler, but you're definitely not supposed to pick up pitchers by putting your dirty, cash-handling hands into said pitcher. Gross. I then watched her take some previously steamed milk, re-steam it, and then serve it to another customer. Big barista no-no.

Unfortunately, my desperation for coffee had grown so high that even after watching these horrific events, I still orded my mocha. I did not tip though (Yeah! That'll show 'em!). When I finally received my drink, it was, not to my surprise but definitely to my dismay, cold. Lukewarm at best. FAIL.

Oh coffee gods, I have learned my lesson. I hear you loud and clear! A decent cup of coffee, even in downtown Seattle, is not a given but a privilege. It is to be worshipped and not taken for granted. Good coffee is to be respected and taken seriously; not retrieved at the last moment, only to be slurped down in a hurry. I will be giving myself more time in the future. I will plan ahead. Or I'll just do it myself.