Untitled Starbucks Poem
I was once the barista
Behind the counter
Who snarled (politely)
At the well dressed women who
Ordered their decaf non-fat lattes.
Now I’m the WASP
Waiting at the counter
While the barista rolls her eyes
And hands me my latte:
Here’s your decaf, bitch.
Oh, how the coffee tables have turned.
Notes: Every time I go into Starbucks I remember the good times I had working there, the good friends I made working there (Ian, Jorge, Jenny, Nichole, Selda) and the decaf bitches. The decaf bitches were a class unto themselves. In the olden days, you actually had to have some skill to be a barista–to pull the perfect shot took practice and sometimes time. There were no automated machines that steamed and frothed the milk for you. And a good decaf shot was almost impossible to get at times. The women who ordered decaf lattes always seemed to be the most demanding. And now once in a while I will order a decaf latte. I do my best not to be shrill or demanding about it (especially since I know that nowadays the barista needs only to push a button on the machine and voilà–a perfect shot appears) but I still sometimes wonder if I am classified as one of them. A decaf bitch. There’s a definite type. Is that who I am now, I wonder?
*An earlier version of this post was first published in March 2014 under the title, D is for Double-Double*
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