Starbucks Drama: The Mocha Calls at Midnight

Let me continue the theme of "bad barista" that seems to have dominated here lately.

I stopped of earlier for a quick iced mocha. This wasn't a writer stop, nor a coffee and conversation with friends. I just wanted coffee.

And in this, I was thwarted. At least momentarily. 

Now, I love most of my baristas. To a large degree, I hold to the thought that you should treat the people that serve your food better than family. THEY HANDLE YOUR FOOD. I certainly treat them better than my brother - I deign to speak to them! :) And I give them money. Tips - large tips - will get you everywhere.

So. Where was I? TRYING to get a coffee.

I'm chatting with Fauxhawk. Who is normally quite pleasant. I know all about his two dogs, his broke-down car and all his hair colors. We are cool like that. But he's still supposed to be slinging some coffee. Which he usually does with alacrity. But I guess this was an off day. Or else he was having a case of the Saturdays.

I order. I pay. He moves over to the copper espresso machines and starts to work. He asks if I want the extra shot and I answer in the affirmative.

Then, a telephone rings. And this isn't the Starbucks phone.

It is his cell phone, which I notice is lying on top of of the bin of coffee beans. Yes. Yes. Right there. Cute little iPhone, bright yellow rubberized case. Right there.

Fauxhawk doesn't even look at me. He just scoops the phone up, crooks it in his ear and starts talking.

Oh, and he keeps on pulling espresso shots while he's doing this.

"No, I can't go out tonight."

"No. Really. I can't. NO. I said I can't. I have to open in the morning. I can't go out and get trashed and work all day." At least he's responsible (somewhat).

"No. I'm at work, but it is OK." Really. In what universe is it OK? I guess since I heard about his dogs that it was OK?

We keep going. I mean, I wanted a coffee. Of course, heading out (or rather, not heading out) that night was a matter of GRAVE import that whoever was on the other end of that night just COULD NOT understand why he could not and would not agree to go out.

Pouring the shots into the drink? On the phone. Arguing.

Mixing the mocha and the milk? On the phone. Still arguing.

Adding the ice? On the phone. Moved on to what's going on later tomorrow.

Lid and straw? On the phone. Talking about last night.

Me thanking him? On the phone. Boyfriend and girlfriend trouble. Apparently, everybody has HISH-YEWS. I'ze bouts to have some issues up in here too.

Me leaving? Still on the phone. Don't care.

Me fifteen miles down the road? Probably still on the phone. Don't know. Really don't care.