The Workplace

The Bachelor came into the store a few days ago. I was in the drive-through helping a customer, so I wasn’t able to gawk sufficiently, but I did inform the group via headset that he was who he was. They didn’t believe me at first, but they came around. I think he ordered a grande drip. He seemed disheartened, like maybe he’d just broken up with his girlfriend.

I’m almost certain that I helped this fellow in the drive-through about a week ago. I have no way of proving it, since it didn’t really click that it was him until he was long gone. I knew he looked familiar, though. He was driving a very clean Volkswagen. He wasn’t friendly, so I didn’t chat him up. And I cannot remember what he ordered. I lose.

One of our espresso machines was out of commission yesterday. Unfortunately, I was working the bar during the rush. There were a lot of angry faces starring me down at the bar. To make matters worse, someone marked Double Tall-Three and a Half Pump Vanilla-Soy-140 Degrees-Latte-woman’s cup wrong – she’s the chick that told me I needed an attitude adjustment. She scolded me after I called out that her drink was extra hot and made no mention of three and a half pumps. She makes me want to cry.

I need a hero.

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