Barista No Mo?

I miss the smell of espresso in the morning coupled with the diabetically delectable rolls that used to sell themselves out every day. Listening to the sound of ritual political debates by the grumpy old men in this cowboy surf town was once music to my ears–how I miss them all.

Most of all, I miss Miss K.

The first go around, I was the only employee she didn’t fire (then rehire) at least once. I got all the best morning shifts, most days with Miss K herself–local celebrity. Everyone she ever knew, from near and far, would stop by just to try and chat with her over coffee almost every day (if not every hour). If she wasn’t around, it was often a huge disappointment to the visitor, who would tell me to tell her hello, and then leave without a purchase (or extended hello my way). I took to calling myself Chopped Liver whenever it felt apropos. It didn’t bother me. Some people just have more dynamic charisma than others, no? (I’m sure it also didn’t hurt that she had two adorable little girls and owned the only coffeehouse in town.)

The second go-around, I had all the shitty shifts, but at the time I was working another barista gig in the mornings, so I didn’t mind so much. However, when the stress of two jobs took its toll on me, I was loyal to Miss K because I felt far more at home there in my dysfunctional work family than I did with my previous job. I inquired about getting some of the morning shifts I used to have at K’s, but I didn’t regain the props I had during my first stint with her. I never knew exactly why, but, like I mentioned, it was dysfunctional, so someone had to be the Meg I guess.

Now Miss K is gone. I don’t know where to or how she’s doing, but I hope she is well.

 

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