Irrational Rage.

Lovely.

Yesterday and today were hot.

Yesterday and today were quite hot, and open campus days for a local boarding school.

Between yesterday and today I made more frozen blended beverages than I have ever cared to make in my life.

(What's a frozen blended beverage? I thought you were a barista.)
(I am a barista. But as I've discussed before, most people don't like coffee. They like fucking ridiculous ass things that are not coffee. Like frozen blended beverages.)

Banana. Strawberry. Fucking tea. Fucking mocha fucking chip. Fucking dingleberry macha surprise. Anything but fucking coffee.

And even the coffee kind bears little resemblence to actual coffee. It's cold. It's milky. It's icy. It's sweet enough to hurt your teeth. It's like a coffee milk shake. Without ice cream. Being from Boston, I almost said a coffee frappe. But that is meaningless to those outside my little enclave. Because, you see, order a milkshake in Boston, you get sweetened, shaken milk. If you want milk and ice cream, it's a frappe.

But it's all people want.

And people don't realize that they don't come from a machine. They mill around, in front of the espresso bar. They huff. They sigh. They make over-loud conversation to friends about how long it takes.

We have two blenders. Each beverage must be blended, poured, and finished. Then the blender must be rinsed. Then the next beverage may be started. And I'm not so bad. I can do two drinks at once, and have the rest almost ready to go. But I can't reach my bare hands into the ice bin, stuff my mouth with ice, milk, sugar and coffee, make a whirring noise while I chew and regurgitate an icy cool refreshing beverage into a glass. And even if I could, that would only increase my efficiency by one-third.

There was a moment yesterday when I had eleven of these beverages in front of me. There were no other drinks to be made. There was nothing to be done. My supervisor just told the other girl to stay out of my way. Not because I could do it faster, or because I'm better than anyone with these goddamned things. But because there's nothing else you can do.

Rage. There's no other reaction. First, annoyance. Then, resentment. Then, rage. Because people don't think. And you can't ask. You can't say "Hey, motherfucker, everyone else can have this kind of drink, but you can't, because five is too many. It's going to make everyone else behind you wait forever", or "Hey, asshole. You're thirty-five. Try an iced coffee."

If you have a job, imagine a day at work. Imagine there is something that is a small part of your job, but not something you do a lot, and not something you're expert at. Something you're barely set up for, but certainly qualified to do. And it's all anyone wants. And they can't see that everyone wanting this one thing is a problem.

And they just keep fucking coming.

And they think it's such a small thing.

But it's not. We have about fifteen different flavors of these goddamned blender drinks. And no one wants the same one. People will come in and order four different.

You don't understand. You can't understand.

But if today had been my last day, this is what I would have done:

(Picture me, behind the bar, six blended beverages in front of me, waiting to be finished. A gentleman comes up and orders three more, each one different and fucking retarded)

Me: Excuse me, sir, would you like a waffle cone with that?
Him: A waffle cone? Do you have that?
Me: No, we don't. How about some jimmies?
Him: Jimmies? You have those?
Me: No, we have no jimmies, either.
Him: Well, why did you...
Me: Because, motherfucker, we have no fucking waffle cones, and no motherfucking jimmies, because we're not a fucking ice cream store.
Him: I know, this is -my coffee shop-, and frankly, I'm offended-
Me: What do we sell at -my coffee shop-?
Him: I don't have to be spoken with this-
Me: WHAT DO WE SELL HERE?
Him: Coffee?
Me: You're fucking right we sell coffee here. Get out of my sight.