THIS COLUMN WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN WRITER’S BLOCK IN THE March 22, 2017 EDITION OF THE CHRONOTYPE, RICE LAKE, WISCONSIN.
I recently moonlighted, well, morning-lighted for a friend and business owner, who also happens to be an incredibly hard-working single mom and just all-around good person. So when she asked if I could help cover her coffee shop while she took her son to Florida, without hesitation I gave a resounding “yes.”
Two weeks to flight, a crash course in breves, macchiatos, blended chai (sweet not spicy, except when they want spicy over sweet), espresso, pulls, foam and whip ensued. Don’t forget, daily fresh-baked scones. I was naively under the impression that if you love it, you can make it. Sure.
An avid consumer of quality coffee, I could appreciate the magnitude of this service I now had to provide. I was the only thing standing between the caffeine-deprived customers and their first taste of sanity, in a cup. I fully understood the precariousness of this position.
I also knew that overtly smiley customer service and cheeriness to this audience would not save me from my own ineptness. In fact, it might just incite riotous behavior, and well-justified. But oh how I tried anyway.
My recurring shift was 7 a.m. opening, to be relieved at 9 a.m. I told myself, “You can do anything for a couple hours, right?” Wrong actually. First order of the day, blended mocha. Okay, not to judge coffee orders, but this was likely the one I had absolutely no experience making and I loathed it already. The chocolate I knew how to use belonged in a hot mocha. Heat was required to melt it. So, was I supposed to melt it in freshly pulled espresso, then blend with ice? I couldn’t remember and it was counterintuitive! Aha! There was a mocha frappe mix. Add some cold coffee and milk and oila! It looked a little too frothy, but I sent it on its way. That customer ordered a plain coffee the next day. (I would come to benchmark the fact that the customer returned as success.)
Every blended drink would present this conundrum for me, with the exception of the blended chai. Proportions were clear, but there are of course two choices, spicy and sweet. Inevitably I would cross these up, to be gently corrected the next time.
And that’s when I learned that humans here (even non-caffeinated ones) really are gracious by nature. I wasn’t in a Starbucks in Times Square on a Monday morning. I was in a community that appreciated good coffee or tea in any amount of time (mostly) it took to get it. And they were willing to help me get it right in patient kindness.
Recipe reminders came from the ones that consume them everyday, and I’m pretty sure my ability to smile through the chaos (and yes, tears) didn’t hurt.
Purely coincidental, by Saturday morning, almost every customer ordered drip coffee, some even bringing in their own cup, eliminating me completely from the equation, but, they came back.
Gently Rise, Softly Call 