The Barista

 Ambry’s cheeks were already tired from faux smiling today, and it was only 10am. She stood in the walk-in letting the below freezing air caress her skin between her anxious sobs and emotional bites of cookie dough, that she’d have to comp later. She deeply inhaled the cool  gusts created from the vault weighted door being opened and shut behind her. The drive thru buzzer beeps non stop, almost metronome-esque, over the kitchen speakers muffled by the weighted door, and through the intercom system that had previously been attached to her head that now sat next to the box of cookie dough in the fridge. She was still managing to answer customers through the headset from the fridge, while her coworkers buzzed around her, occasionally touching her arm in passing. They knew she would remember three to four cars worth of orders, but it still didn’t change the annoyance her bar partner felt with her when she took the moment. Just as she felt when someone less qualified or experienced took the same kind of moment too. Although, the latter rarely happened because she was the only one with enough patience to wear the damn headset all day anyways. 

     Her coworkers entered the only emotional safe haven they all shared with empathetic caution, and quickly grabbed restock materials before exiting in the same manner. This is a norm. The first round of break’s didn’t start until 10:30 and she was lucky to make it to 10am these days. Hence, walk-in timeouts.

     She caught herself thinking about a time when the last “Lunch” break was the most coveted by her, and chuckled to herself as a thought consumed with cruel irony quickly followed the memory, “Look at us now.”. 12 years ago that first lunch left too much time in the day to be spent in the kitchen or the lobby after you returned. When she was still a newb she’d beg her favorite supervisors XB, B-Town, or Rhett to send her last. At first bargaining the Taco Bell down the road wasn’t open yet for the first lunch break, and then eventually because she and her bar partner that day, who became the bar partner everyday, was her work bestie and her ride for any food other than this food. The excuses for last break started working less and less frequently, but at least she still got to take a break everyday with the work bestie. Their breaks were usually spent outside in the “pit” smoking her turkish silver’s and T9 texting the latest love interest, while work bestie recounted the reasons she deserved more and needed to quit supporting both bad habits. Late days that they won the desired break time were spent in the passenger seat of his “retro” CRV as he tried to impress her with his mediocre ability to drive a stick. It never occurred to her then that these would be the easiest days of her life, or that as the years went on she’d come to understand why the supers stood in the walk-in and stayed through breaks, or never took them to begin with. She was 18 and the responsibilities were lost on her then. 

     Ambry massaged the memories away from her temples in the stale freezer air, and thought about all the lessons learned in her life thus far, and this far into 2020. As she did, in the walk-in. 2020 had been hard everywhere,and shook every supply chain and workforce to the core. None experienced this shudder more than retail and hospitality, however. According to the CDC she was “essential”. A barista, a caffeine warrior, a front liner for the exposure to disease. She was also a single mother of two working 3 essential jobs and still unable to qualify for COVID assistance, or medicaid, or food stamps. And for sure unable to work less so that she could, like some of her peers. She was important and essential, and couldn’t afford not to be. Besides, people still needed their coffee.

      Other “essential” workers’ environments tend to have staff rooms, or break rooms, or somewhere they’re allotted to spend time away from the area they’re considered “essential” to. Not the hospitality industry. Not in this coffee shop. Here, even before the VID, workers ate violently over a 15 gallon trash can next to the “line” when they could, or made up their own food creations with ingredients in store, and laid their spread on the prep table for everyone to graze upon in passing. If you were lucky a coworker covered your station for you while you cooked, but only under the oath that they also were entitled to whatever “community” spread you were about to create. Here, workers shot doppio con pana’s like spirits between customers, and chugged whatever syrupy sugar packed concoction they had invented that day to mask the espresso taste. Their favorite inventions were the ones shared with brave regulars and newbs to the menu who wanted some exclusive “off menu” special to feel special. High stress and hot pressed, this place.

     Ambry had just been joking with one of her favorite regulars before the walk-in breather, before she was caught off guard and overwhelmed by the continual pressure to serve with a smile. She’d mentioned she didn’t know whether she should be flattered by the idea that she was both essential while simultaneously unimportant, “Usually you’re just one of those, right? So, I MUST be special.” They’d both shared a cynical giggle as the regular once again insisted they’d tell her owner she deserved a raise before tossing a $1 tip she’d gabbed so hard for into the jar. She felt rewarded here most days. The tips spoke for themselves when she was on the window. She felt important here. She was important here, after 12 years of service. Everyone within a 20 mile radius had come to expect her “sweet smiling face”, and made sure to let her know how disappointed they were had they come through on one of her off days. 

     Essential, but still not important enough to merit NOT having things hurled at her through a drive thru window on any given day. Things included but not limited to company punch/rewards cards that resulted in free beverages, loose change, insults, or specialty drinks and/or food items that were just exchanged and found to be wrong, or not what the individual thought they were when they initially placed the order. 

     The customer’s demands were her beck and call. She made it her priority to serve as if she were serving her own. She fought to wear her customer’s deterred disappointments as a badge of honor, and savored their satisfactions. She served by the golden rule. Which is perhaps why the anxiety and lapses of burnout came in more frequent waves, and why these walk-in time outs never felt long enough.  

    After seven stolen minutes away from her stoop, her bar bustled in. “Uh, are we wrapping this one up, or do I need to take that?” The coworker nodded to the headset still on the fridge rack as she held the heavy door slightly open with both hands. Ambry could tell she was trying not to look as annoyed as she sounded. She swallowed her last chunk of cookie dough,  took one, hopefully lasting and rejuvenating, deep breath before putting the still beeping headset back on and stepped back out into the kitchen with her friend. 

“Break’s over.”