Tuesday, April 16, 2013
In the place where most of my writing takes place lately, I have a ring side seat to listen in on the various ways that people want their coffee prepared. Two words generally come to mind each and every morning that I sit here. "High maintenance". I mean really, who came up with the thousands of variations of drink/flavor/milk/temp options? And how many tries does it take the average person to come up with a 3 minute spiel for a single order? And what did we possibly do before it was discovered that when one was finished smoking hemp, one could actually drink it as milk? How do you milk a hemp plant? Maybe that was in one of the out takes from "Meet the Parents". The longer that I sit here, the more I admire the baristas who juggle these orders from people who obviously desperately need them. I feel very boring when I can walk in and know that my drink can come lovingly without me even speaking it. Not only that, they know what drink that I'm needing merely by the time of day that I'm walking in. I'm so glad that I'm not high maintenance.