It's the little things, some days
I slept in a bit this morning - although I'm newly busy with the new responsibilities, things still seem really. . . I dunno, easy! - at work, and so I've been showing up more like 9 than 8/8:30. My coworkers still show up about 7/7:30, but they are leaving at 5 now, so I feel like I'm in keeping. I decided to stop at Starbucks for a "fancy coffee". (My officemate at my old job, whom I loved dearly, used to refer to it that way when we'd sneak out for one mid-day during the worst days.)
I don't go there that often, but when I do, I'm always pleased to see the same cast of characters behind the bar. There was the nice guy with the awesome cornrows - I can't help but think of him as jolly. Is that a patronizing word? I hope not! He's just so freaking cheerful, smiling and chuckling, and he's in a constant state of motion, too, which is what suggests the word to me. There was the guy I think of as tall, light, and silent - an enormous toothpick dude who never talks - and at the register with Jollydude was a new lady. It was surprisingly empty, for that time - just this one lady who was paying for her order, and me. (By the time I left, there was a line out the door, so I clearly was in the eye of the storm.)
I heard other customer lady say something like, "Did the Brewers win last night?" To which the jolly guy replied something inaudible, and then he said, "yeah, and how 'bout your Knicks?" As newly minted Knickerbockers fan, I couldn't help but empathize with my fellow customer. "OW! Shoot," I said, coherently. (We'd just ground ourselves out of the playoffs on Saturday.) The two behind the bar and the customer and I joked around a bit, referred to LeBron James, and then I was eventually prompted to order, which I did. "What's your name?" the new lady asked me. I told her, but quickly added, "you can just put "Knicks" on it." "Yeah," said the jolly guy, "She's a Knicks fan, too. The Spurs are gonna win it, though, don't worry." I laughed and said, "well, somebody has to." and proceeded down to the bar to wait for T,L&S to hand me my cup. He was busily engaged in coffeemaking, but picked his head up a few centimeters to say "and here is the grande caramel latte" as he extended the cup. "Thanks," I said, focused on pulling out a paper sleeve.
So it wasn't until I was partially out the door that I saw my coffee cup.
That cracks my sh*t up, man.
I don't go there that often, but when I do, I'm always pleased to see the same cast of characters behind the bar. There was the nice guy with the awesome cornrows - I can't help but think of him as jolly. Is that a patronizing word? I hope not! He's just so freaking cheerful, smiling and chuckling, and he's in a constant state of motion, too, which is what suggests the word to me. There was the guy I think of as tall, light, and silent - an enormous toothpick dude who never talks - and at the register with Jollydude was a new lady. It was surprisingly empty, for that time - just this one lady who was paying for her order, and me. (By the time I left, there was a line out the door, so I clearly was in the eye of the storm.)
I heard other customer lady say something like, "Did the Brewers win last night?" To which the jolly guy replied something inaudible, and then he said, "yeah, and how 'bout your Knicks?" As newly minted Knickerbockers fan, I couldn't help but empathize with my fellow customer. "OW! Shoot," I said, coherently. (We'd just ground ourselves out of the playoffs on Saturday.) The two behind the bar and the customer and I joked around a bit, referred to LeBron James, and then I was eventually prompted to order, which I did. "What's your name?" the new lady asked me. I told her, but quickly added, "you can just put "Knicks" on it." "Yeah," said the jolly guy, "She's a Knicks fan, too. The Spurs are gonna win it, though, don't worry." I laughed and said, "well, somebody has to." and proceeded down to the bar to wait for T,L&S to hand me my cup. He was busily engaged in coffeemaking, but picked his head up a few centimeters to say "and here is the grande caramel latte" as he extended the cup. "Thanks," I said, focused on pulling out a paper sleeve.
So it wasn't until I was partially out the door that I saw my coffee cup.
That cracks my sh*t up, man.