Confessions of a Starbucks Barista

with extra, extra caramel (oh my mistake, KARmul) "Ventay, with extra whoopcream."

 Ugh, that order. The likes of it get me everytime. The last time someone ordered that from me personally, I felt like someone'd punched me in the stomach.  I'm going on 4 years of this, part-time, since I started college. And the funny thing is, I finished and I'm still here, which happens, I've noticed. Herein follow the confessions of a Starbucks Barista.

I feel safe at my store, I'm good at my job now, and I love the people. My coworkers, are amazing and ever-changing, and there are benefits; it's social, interactive, and exciting. The hours go by decently fast, it's on-your-feet and active, and you get lots of free caffeine. Which I love.


But I don't know. There's the sense that you're smart but you're stuck. There's the realization that  your job is actually decently hard and requires intelligence, but then the reminder that it could be worse and you know it.  Plus it has more prestige than McDonalds.

And after months of mulling this over I feel like I've walked the circumference of a complacent circle and find myself tired. And then I go to work where I am refreshed by the sense that I like my coworkers and a "let's do this!" oomph runs through as soon as I've taken a doppio. But sooner or later, it happens.  Someone orders a Venti Caramel Frappuccino with extra, extra Karmul and extra whoopcream, or a passionfruit iced tea with lemonade and raspberry and I'm reminded again that most people are idiots.

Sunday, June 24th.