Black Gold

I think this is the name of it. My boss recommended this documentary to me, and now I'm recommending it to you! Of course it will be depressing. It's about the corrupt coffee business in Africa, with workers who are practically enslaved by plantation owners they're paid so little. I guess it's sort of the real-life coffee equivalent of that DiCaprio movie "Blood Diamond." Perhaps you'll never take a sip of espresso again after watching it. Perhaps you'll quit your job. I haven't seen it yet, but it's on my Netflix list. que, queue?

No title

I'm in a bad mood. The worst is to be having a "fat" day, be ultra exhausted, kind of depressed, overloaded with school work, mad because the interview I did today didn't record properly and now I'm fucked, and bitter that no, at what should be the end of the day, I have to go begin a shift and train a newbie how to close. Times like these when it's hard, but I've got to remind myself that I love my job and I wouldn't want to be doing anything else for a living. I wouldn't make a good teacher, unlike ever yother girl I know. Will I even be a good mother? I might be completely void of all those maternal, coaching and nurturing instincts. I just lose patience when I train people. Not out loud, of course. My theatrical nature is what saves me, because I can fake a mood whenever life calls for it. I'll just silently suffer like a Jewish grandmother in her darkened living room, and no one will know. But on the inside, I'm screaming, "Is it so goddamn hard to figure out how to sweep a floor? Where did you come from you idiot!!" Cause it's not like they get taught how to make a perfect cap on their first day. That comes a couple months later, after they've proven they can show up on time, scrub toilets, and basically prove that they're worth the money we (not me, boss) pay them.
It's all the crap that comes before espresso training that's painful for me and surely for them as well. I wouldn't want to be trained by myself. No way. What could be more tedious than spending your evening watching closely over this stranger making sure she's putting the latte glasses back in the right spots, or putting broken glasses in the recycling instead of on top of the espresso machine. People have done that. I've seen it with my own two eyes.

Still Scared

Wow baby. It's five days since I wrote something here. I hope none of my fan swere worried about me. I've been really busy with school- with writing this one paper really. No excuses. I don't have a lot to say. One good thing about being so tied up in school, work, and freelancing is that I have like no time to sit and think about how much something or other may suck. So that's good I suppose. I'm still scared shitless about our upcoming cap-off. My caps haven't been looking that great lately. Maybe I'm psyching myself out.

carpal fears

I am scared at the moment because for the first time ever, my wrist is aching with the kind of pain I've only heard described to me by co-workers suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome. In the coffee industry it's not uncommon for workers to experience shooting pains in their wrists and forearms. We baristas make espresso with one hand, and the process of pulling each shot is a repetitive series of twists and turns of the wrist that, after some time, can cause damage. Damn! I didn't think it could happen to me, though. It's funny, because I never have these pains at work, while I'm working the espresso machine. I feel the pain only right now, in my right arm, as I'm sitting here typing. It feels like the tendons connecting my fingers to my wrists to my elbows are on fire or like they might stiffen up at any moment. Anyway, it hurts real bad and I don't want it to continue.
So what do I do? Stop typing? But I'm an aspiring journalist. I can't not type! So do I stop making coffee? Well if I did that, then what would I write about? You see this dilemma of mine? Do you realize now how hard my life can be? Jesus Christ

Home Alone at Boss Lady's House!!

I am typing on my boss's computer, sitting at her desk, having my leg humped by her grimy boyfriend's dog. I'm the housesitter this evening. The boss took that boy (11 years her junior- oh my!) out of town for the night. Some sort of lovers getaway I suppose. And I am here, caring for George's two dogs and boss's adorable little kitten. It's quite the good time so far. She lives in a splendid house not far from my apartment, but in the swankier neighborhood, where everyone has a big yard with tree swings and tiny gardens with those shiny globe things in the middle.
She also has this incredible sauna in her backyard. It looks like a big huge barrel but once you crawl inside, all naked and cold from the snowy outdoors, it's this rustic spa- eucalyptus and all. So that's my evening. My boy is on his way over right now. I had to bring hamburger helper from home to cook here. Boss forgets to grocery shop for her kids and I want more than vodka and dark chocolate for dinner.
I've got one of my working girl buddies coming over later for some naked sauna party time. My boyfriend won't go in the sauna because he says that every time he goes in one, he gets a bad cold the next day that won't go away. Something to do with the heat and steam releasing all his body's toxins at once. He is a pussy, but I love him dearly.
You're probably wondering what evil plan I have to steal from my boss's home or vandalize it in some subtle way that she won't discover till it's too late (turd in the freezer? urine all over the sauna?). I'm lucky I guess that I have a good enough boss that I'm not even tempted to shit in her son's closet so she'll blame him two weeks later when she finds it. I thank my lucky stars for this every day.

Work hard, be lonely forever.

Sometimes I don't have fun at work because I try too hard to be the one setting the example by not making jokes or standing around not doing anything. Know what I mean? Since I'm a trainer, and I've also been working at Nasty for much longer than many other employees, there is pressure to instill that strong work ethic that tough managers instilled in me years ago. If Cafe Nasty loses that insane energy, where workers are always buzzing around and scrubbing shit and being hyper-motivated to get the job done, then we're just another lame coffee shop full of burnout youths.
To think that the public could ever view us that way saddens me greatly. However, as time passes and there are so many new people, so many young people, the fear grows within me that we're headed to a bad place.
So to combat this, I go the extra mile by sometimes not even saying one witty thing or engaging in one minute's worth of small talk with my crew for our entire shift. I work hard instead. I give orders, and throw disapproving glances in the direction of those who slack on the job. Sometimes this works and a good flow is achieved, where we're each doing something of value and there's never a dull moment. Other times, I just end up alienating myself from the team and I spend the day in my corner while they chat and laugh and exclude me from all their jokes- and they don't work.
What to do when this happens?

Comedians behind the counter.

Today is Valentine's Day. That's not really a reason for me to be either excited or depressed. I don't celebrate it with my boyfriend because we're poor, lowly college students and it's hard enough just to make our utility payments on time. Besides, do I really find teddy bears or Russell Stover candies thrilling. No I don't. This is all I'm going to say about Valentine's Day. I think I've already made my case against the holiday in a previous entry, so there.
This cold and blistering morning, I had the fortune of working alongside one of Nasty's more entertaining employees, this guy named Jonas. He has worked there for around six years I think, so he's really a dinosaur compared to the mostly new staff.
When I met him, four years ago, he was a sad man- lonely and chubby and a little bit mean. This carried on for some time. He got a girlfriend maybe a year or so ago, and also took a part-time teaching position. The combined effects of these changes seem to be overwhelmingly positive.
When I work with Jonas, I am continuously shocked throughout the shift at his ability to laugh and small talk with customers. It seems so natural, and I know it is- he's just saying whatever comes to mind, which in his case is usually funny- sometimes in a gross way though. What gets me is how open customers are to his somewhat inappropriate sense of humor. I've seen him transform the stiffest suits into giggling little girls. It's quite amazing to watch.
I would love to have this effect on customers, but I know that I never will. I am a petite, cute, and sometimes intimidating (so I've been told) woman. No matter how chummy I think I'm getting with a regular, there is always a barrier. I believe it comes from within me, and has something to do with my general fear of strangers that can be interpreted as a snobbish or closed-off personality. Yes, that's definitely it.
Jonas presents himself in sort of this, "Here I am world. I'm not perfect- in fact I'm far from it. But I don't care, I just want to make dumb jokes and be a weird hairy guy." There is something about the slobby everyman persona that people are amused by. Because they can relate to it I guess? He is truly funny though, I kid you not.
I try to be cute and funny, but my delivery and my overall public self will probably never put people at such ease as Jonas'.
I would like to work on this.

Mid-Semester Burnout

It's that time, and it's not even mid-semester. This is like one month into the spring term and I can go on no longer.
You see, as much as I love working at Cafe Nasty, with its superior brew and its quirky employees, there will come a time in the next couple years where I'm certain I'll go crazy and have to leave forever. I'm not approaching this state, but I've witnessed other former co-workers get there and it's not a pretty sight. They get cranky over the littlest things, their eyes are dead, their vveins drained of all the love they ever had for working here. Hopefully, I'll be able to pull out gracefully before it gets that bad.
I've got like two more years of college left and I plan to stay at Nasty until I've graduated and hopefully gotten a jobby job.
I'm bringing up these concerns over burning out one day just because that's sorta how I feel at this moment. It's the whole working and schooling full-time that gets me. And living with my darling boyfriend and making time to spend with him. Forget about having other friends. I'll have a night with the girls every now and again, but still. I feel dried up right now. Emotionally and psychologically.
I know that I'll be better tomorrow. Good Night.

It's all about the coffee!

This is just my little ode to the joys of coffeemaking. Cafe Nasty actually has two locations in our small town. One has been in existence for almost 15 years, while the other opened just this summer. The staff is trained to work at both stores. There isn't much of a difference between them, product-wise or anything. The main difference is that the new cafe is a lot smaller and serves a little bit more food and shit. The other, smaller difference is that I hate working at the new Cafe Nasty. This is because I thrive off of the hectic energy of original Nasty. It's quite big for a coffee shop, it seats a shitload of over-pampered snobs and students. It's constantly abuzz with that delightful energy of a well-functioning little business. The new store, because it is so amall and has no indoor seating, has a smaller number of people on every shift. For many reasons, I think this sucks. I'm sure I'll be able to explore those sentiments in depth at a later date. Right now, I'm just bitching because of the lack of contact I have with the espresso machine at the new store. It drives me bonkers!
I live to be close to that steaming hunk of metal (well, not really I guess, but sort of). I get a thrill each time I dose out some of that finely ground pixie dust with it's sweet aroma and dark chocolate. Coffee is life. It is luscious and provides such marvelous instant gratification that only a shot of heroin or an orgasm can match.
And what do I do at the new Nasty? I serve angry mothers and their chocolate-faced offspring bowls of chili and egg sandwiches and all that garbage. No one comes there for the delicious espresso. No way. So I am obviously embittered about having been put in exile over at that stinking place. Fortunately, at this very moment I'm about to begin a shift at the original Nasty, and I have hours of espresso making to look forward to. Joy to the world!

How good am I?

I am panicking already, and the cap-off is a month away! I just can't handle the pressure, you know?
Every March, instead of the monthly staff meeting we always have the first Tuesday of the month, we hold a cappucino making contest called the cap-off. It gives all us baristas a chance to show off our ever-growing skills to eachother in a competitive environment. The winner receives $150 and I think 2nd place wins like $75 or something. Not bad. Considering we're all starving artists and students, there is nothing more appealing than cold hard cash.
There will be three judges, a couple of whom used to work at the cafe, and then someone else, usually some longtime aqquaintence of boss lady's who happens to know a thing or two about coffee (or not). The judges sit in a private area so that they can't see who's pouring which cap- so it's fair. They judge on things like proper extraction of the espresso, the milk texture, the cap's appearance, and whether it has the proper amount of foam. Last year, after drinking all that espresso and milk and mixing it up with shots of whiskey, the judges started running off to the bathroom to puke, one by one. Then one of the judges (boss's friend who used to host a show on TLC and thinks he's hot shit) came out of the bathroom after the contest was over and he was so pathetically wasted he grabbed the mic from our official cap-off MC and started ranting about how bad our caps were. He was kidding I guess, but he sounded like such a beligerent drunk that we all thought he was serious and went home feeling bad about ourselves.
I can't handle the cap-off. Never could, never will. Every year I expect it to get easier, especially now that I'm a trainer and am responsible for teaching people how to pour exquisite caps. But I still break into a cold sweat at the mere mention of the cap-off. This is not a surprise to me. I suffer from stage fright, I've had my share of panic attacks and moments of agorophobia. I wish, though, that my body would at least allow me to have fun and get into the competitive spirit like everyone else.
With my co-workers watching, I tremble profusely and become so distracted by my nervousness that I forget to watch my shots, and then I pour sloppily and serve a below-par cappuccino with tears in my eyes. This happens every year, and I hate it. I am hoping to somehow overcome this hurdle and triumph next month, but who knows.
I'll discuss this matter in the future, as the contest approaches. I'll even share techniques with you!!

Jane gets the axe

On my last post, I had mentioned how guilty I felt for agreeing with my boss's decision to fire Jane. I am over that feeling now, and a sense of relief has overtaken any guilt I was harboring. Whether I had told my boss that I think Jane should be fired or not, she was going to do it. I had nothing to do with that.
Now I look forward to a time somewhere in the near future (I hope) where the cafe is not dominated by nasty gossip and unstoppable cafe incest. I expect the next couple of weeks will be rocky as we all adjust. This is the first time in Cafe Nasty history that boss lady has let someone go just because of her personality or her character or whatever. Jane was a very good worker- good with customers, clean and tidy, made beautiful drinks, all that shit. But she was also a destructive force that was slowly lowering everyone's morale.
The question that's on my mind now is: was she totally to blame for the recent epidemic of hostility and slander? Well, no she wasn't. There were others- Mallory and Sanjay got stern talkings to today from the boss- I saw it with my own eyes. And her boyfriend Dave, he did nothing that a good boyfriend is supposed to do when his girl is having a hard time.
Is Jane being persecuted because she's an attractive female? Or does boss lady (do I?) feel threatened by this power Jane seemingly wielded while she was working at Nasty? It really was as if we were all under her spell- obsessed with who she would hook up with next- scared that she would single us out individually and verbally bitch slap each of us behind our backs.
Is this a symptom of society being afraid of strong females?
The thing is, though these questions are floating around in my head because I'm terrified that something unwarranted may have been done, I don't really feel that Jane is the victim of a Puritanical witch hunt. After observing the cafe dynamics over the past couple of months, I can say with confidence that Jane seemed not to care whether she was making trouble at work. We have this saying at Cafe Nasty- that when you walk into the store to begin your shift, you lock up all your problems and issues in this imaginary golden chest, and you can have them back when it's time to leave. Jane routinely violated this rule, and in my opinion dug her grave by doing so.
Will this set an example for the rest of the staff? Will they realize the severity of it all? Or will they laugh it off. Time will tell...

The end of Jane

Well folks. It's finally happened. I didn't expect it, to tell you the truth. I spoke to the boss just about an hour ago and she told me that she's going to let Jane go when she meets with her tonight. Boss lady wanted to get my opinion on the matter and I told her that I thought she was doing the right thing. Now I feel horrible for having said that. But I was being honest. I do think that Jane has created conflicts beyond anything Cafe Nasty's ever seen. Other workers have participated in the shenanigans as well, but I guess Jane has sort of spearheaded the operation. So she'll be gone forever after today. I wonder how Dave, her boyfriend wil react to thwe news.
I'm adjusting to the idea as I write. I don't know how to feel, or what else to say.

Down with "sexpresso"!!

I'm sure you've heard of this by now, but a new kind of coffee bar has been receiving a lot of media attention lately. These cafes do not pride themselves on serving the best, most exquisite cappuccinos, no sir-ee. Their primary draw is that the baristas are scantily clad women. Oh. My. God. But it was only a matter of time, right?
I just read an LA Times article about this cafe in the Seattle suburbs called the Sweet Spot Cafe. The girls behind the counter wear bikinis and tight dresses and all that crap. You should really Google it, it's pretty extraordinary. The special drinks they serve have names like "The Wet Dream" and "Sexual Mix." Can you imagine? This day and age- unbelievable.
But I'll tell you, when I read that these girls, who are paid just above minimum wage, can earn up to $200 in tips during a 7 hour shift, I nearly wet myself. Could I stoop to that level if the price was right? The answer is no: partly because I'm not at all endowed in the bosom area and no greasy trucker wants to shell out for flat-chested service, and partly because it would be gross. As it is, when the occasional slobby male customer gives me more attention than necessary I freeze up and act stupid because I don't know the right way to handle it and it makes me feel funny.
The only way I can accept the existence of these kinds of cafes is to simply place them in a separate category from where I work. I can't imagine that there's much similarity in the way the businesses are run. Who knows how good the drinks are? Can a man even taste what he's drinking if he's busy drooling into the tip jar, a massive erection poking through his jeans? I permit myself to judge the quality of an institution by the quality of its clientele.
My boss is aware of this trend- but I think she kind of likes the idea. I'm crossing my fingers that this new way of customer service doesn't sweep the nation and make its way over to the east coast. I just don't know what I'd do.

The boss and me.

Yes, I do have a meeting/social engagement scheduled for this evening with big boss lady. I made the effort to invite her out for drinks because it's been a real long time since we've even had a lengthy one-on-one conversation. This is a proven strategy for succeeding in life: if your boss likes you- milk it for all it's worth. I consider myself fortunate that my boss likes me and thinks I'm fun. If I lose touch with her on a friendly type level then I just melt away into the ever-growing pool of employees that need her attention. I can't let that slip through my fingers, so we're going out in style tonight.
She's a very fun, independent, sexy and smart woman who started this business with her former husband and father to her two children. She and her ex still run the joint together- I assume it requires a great deal of effort for them to not kill each other every now and then, but so far they've been good about working together and the cafe only gets more successful every year.
So we're gonna "hang" and talk and shit. I guess it's also important to me since all this horrible gossip has been circulating through the cafe lately. I want her to always consider me a responsible ally who she'll never have to worry about causing any kind of ruckus. Plus, maybe she's got some new juicy gossip for me! If she knows that, as one of her upper-level manager people, that I'm professional and wouldn't betray her trust, then she just might spill all her secrets to me. She's done it before. I just want to know if she's thinking about firing Jane or anything, because I've heard talk. But it's just talk.
I'll definitely let you know what happens on our date.

Fight! Fight! Fight!

Of course I should know by now not to go out drinking with my co-workers. Though they are the most eclectic and entertaining group of people, they are all so disfunctional that my work life would probably fare better if I refrained from seeing them in their most drunken, beligerent states.
Even thought I know better, I did, in fact, go out to the bars with a couple guys from work the other night. What began as a carefree, shoot the shit kind of evening ended up one of the most publically humiliating experiences of recent months. Remembering how ashamed I was of us all when it was goin on, I can only imagine how stupid I would have felt if I were sober at the time. Fortunately, I had consumed no less than ten beers (I'm 5'3", 110 lb, but I'm tough).
After hours of drinking at one bar, having fun and being silly, I went along with Sal, this neanderthal of a man, who towers at 6'4" and always seems to be present during my most drunken memories. I think it's because I try to keep up with him, drink for drink. That's really stupid of me. Anyway, we went to another bar in town with Dave, who is another good on-and-off drinking buddy of mine from work. Dave is also Jane's "official" boyfriend, but the label obviously doesn't mean much, at least to Jane.
As Sal, Dave, and I were sitting at our table, throwing back brewdogs, a regular customer from the cafe came up to our table and wanted to shake our hands and thank us for making such good coffee and shit. This interaction was followed by a brief session of us gushing about how much we all love working at Cafe Nasty, how it's such a good business that we truly believe in, and we're so happy our co-workers are so cool that we want to hang with e/other all the time- you know, real sentimental crap that you only find yourself saying after eight beers.
Our mushy love session led into Dave talking about some of his random business ideas for improving the cafe's profits- just wacky thoughts he's had before that I don't think he ever put much energy into. Things like opening up a branch in the neighboring college town, or making an espresso cart that we can push around at big hippie festivals (Dave is really into big hippie festivals). Out of nowhere, Sal just erupted with rage and started yelling at Dave for not caring about the cafe. Dave got defensive and told Sal that every time he has an idea, that Sal always shoots him down or tries to make him look bad in front of the boss. Sal got even angrier at Dave for this and the whole thing escalated into a shouting match, fingers pointing at each other, lots of needless swearing. It was so pathetic.
I kept looking around and noticing how everyone in the bar I recognized as being a regular at Cafe Nasty. Even some of the bartenders are our customers. I felt sad and humiliated that these poor customers are seeing the worst sides possible to us. They were staring at our table like we wer the biggest morons to ever walk into a bar- and we probably were.
Believe me, I did try to interject and break up the fight. But they were completely absorbed by anger and the shouting only ended when Dave left the bar in a huff. I scolded Sal for being such an idiot, and told him that some of our best customers are now probably afraid of him. He felt bad then, and apologized, and he was so drunk that he couldn't remember what the fight was about. Dave returned not long after and they exchanged a hug. Dave couldn't remember how the fight started either.
So, where do we draw the line when it comes to our behaviouur outside of work? We live in a small town, but not that small. There are a lot of people around, but I guess the same kind of people that would go to our cafe would also be into the same bars that we like. So we can't avoid running into customers. But we also deserve to go out and get drunk and silly just like everyone else, right?
I guess I feel bad because it happens so often when I'm out with work friends that a customer will come up and say how great it is that we are all really friends. Yes, I agree, it is great, but we're also enemies a lot of the time. They don't want to see any of that though. I almost feel like they shouldn't have to see any of it. Maybe it is just our responsibility as employees of Cafe Nasty to uphold the facade of friendship. Nothing is more uncomfortable than serving a cappuccino to the guy who saw you threatening your friend at a bar the night before. It's just not cool.