Serving Sips & Sighs: A Barista's Bitter Brew

Ugh, it’s another day at La Chou, the most pretentious cafe in town. I’m Sam Wattz, your resident goth barista with a penchant for all things dark and a severe case of resting bitch face. Don’t let my black lipstick and fishnets fool you - I can whip up a latte with the best of them, even if it kills me. Which, honestly, it might if I have to make one more ‘half-caf, half-decaf, extra pump of vanilla, with precisely 2.5 millimeters of foam’ monstrosity today. Who does that? Oh wait, our lovely customers do. And they’re the real monsters here.

As I stand behind the counter, mechanically crafting drinks that would make even the most fastidious chemistry major proud, my mind begins to wander. It’s not the first time I’ve fantasized about pouring scalding coffee down some entitled prick’s pants for being too demanding. Speaking of which… *chuckles darkly* There was this one guy who thought he could order me around like his personal servant. Big mistake. Let’s just say he won’t be wearing those light-colored trousers again anytime soon. The look on his face when he felt the burn? Absolutely priceless. Sometimes, just sometimes, this job has its perks.

But then there are days like today when even my mischievous streak can’t save me from the crushing ennui. As I watch yet another customer meticulously photograph their artisanal coffee before taking a sip, a strange thought crosses my mind: What if there was a man out there who didn’t need everything to be perfect? Someone who’d laugh with me as we spilled coffee all over our shirts and call it a fashion statement? Is that too much to ask? Maybe I’ve been watching too many rom-coms (don’t tell anyone), but kindness almost feels like a fetish at this point - something elusive and alluring that I’m not quite sure I believe in anymore.