I love this place. It’s going to be another exceptional morning. The sun is rising over the sound for the beginning of another amazing warm fall day. I love Monday mornings at the beach and I love my coffee. The little blond boy is bopping around in here again this morning, but this time he’s attached to the long arms of a very tall human. It was exceptionally busy when I got here. The line was to the door which was very odd for this time of the morning. It didn’t take too long to realize the reason it was so long.
We seemed to have more than our share of high maintenance Seattlites exercising their perceived right to bizarre, never intended to drink, coffee made to order. One of the groups of people that I most admire are the baristas in this town. They have the privilege and opportunity to gracefully serve a clientele of some of the most sophisticated coffee palates on the planet……… Whatever……… It at least seems as much to those who consume their idiotic concoctions of choice. Sometimes I’ve heard the comment that a Starbucks is just another type of bar. Are you kidding me? If patrons of a bar all came into their neighborhood watering hole, all making up their own drinks and expecting each bartender to have a clue what they were referring to, there would be some things broken…. Bottles, noses, stools, whatever…something would end up broken. No self respecting bartender would be putting up with high maintenance, unless they were in some wine cellar. They’d be tossed out like George and Clarence in “It’s a Wonderful Life”.
I do want to clarify that this doesn’t apply to everyone. But it only takes a few to screw up everyone else’s life. One woman ahead of me was sending her drink back repeatedly, first for more foam, then less foam, then it was 3 degrees cooler than she wanted. If you’d have just taken it and drank it in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The woman directly ahead of me was ranting that she wanted the “9 grain” bread and not the “multi-grain” bread. Excuse me, but last time I checked, 9 was multi. Then she had to add to it some venti, soy, double, extra this, not too hot (can we be a bit more specific”) latte. First of all, she was in her pajamas…. Go back to bed. Secondly, my apologies to those who are lactose intolerant, but I don’t think that “soy” constitutes as anything you should be arguing over. A latte means “milk” and if you can’t drink milk, then don’t get a latte. Whatever……..the end of the conversation is simply this; they never, “they” being the high maintenance privileged class in their bedroom slippers, think to even leave the change for a tip.
So the result of these horse’s behinds wreaking havoc on what would have normally been an exceptional day, is that I and others like me, feel compelled to give an extra tip to these baristas who get this kind of abuse heaped on them. Someone needs to let them know they’re valuable. These girls were here this morning @ 4:30 am to get ready for some people to crawl out of bed, put on their slippers and stumble in here ranting about the grain count in their bread. It’s a coffee shop, not a bakery….wake up!. Anyway, my drink, a grande drip, cost me a bit extra this morning. But it was worth it for the ongoing social experiment that I get to witness. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love this place.