30 Years + 5 Months + 3 Week + 1 Day
***
I’m not sure exactly what I’ve gotten myself into. I survived my first night of training, so I guess that counts for something. However, as I left 2.5 hours after I was supposed to, kicking smashed soymilk boxes and cockroach-sized muffin crumbs in my path, I realized the sweet, chill coffee shop gig of my dreams—where I chit-chat with interesting local artists and have time to jot down brilliant ideas for future novels and screenplays in my Moleskin—only exists in romantic comedies.
Food service is not easy work. There is lots of scrubbing, heavy lifting, and chemicals involved. The place of my new, temp employment is very busy. If you’re not waiting on a customer and whipping up five drinks you’re chopping a hundred bananas, answering the phone, washing dishes, brewing more coffee, wrapping baked goods, scooping ice cream, etc. A great pace for clock-watchers, but not so much when you don’t know how to do a damn thing (right). I mean, I included the espresso steamed milk container thermometer in the sanitation beast of a machine. Apparently a big no-no. Oops. God love the The New Twenty.
It is not rocket science. But it is some sort of weird science.
A list of the super yum items I got to sample:
- Chipotle sweet potato soup
- Espresso milkshake (orgasmic!!!!!!!)
- Chai latte
- Cappuccino foam with caramel
- Homemade sports bar
- Iced mocha latte
- Chicken salad
Definitely a perk, though let’s hope I don’t get too pudged out. As the charming 26 year-old stoner/artist who frenetically trained me said…
“I’m not kidding about worrying about my girlish figure.”
ME: “Why would you be worried about that?” (He’s built like Jude Law)
“Because let’s face it. I’m not going to win over any ladies with my sparkling personality or my fat paycheck.”
I don’t even know when I go back in yet…but I do know that when I do, I won’t be wearing my fav skinny jeans…
