From the Other Side of the Counter

From the other side of the counter there is so much to be seen, but so little to be understood.

I have been out of the country for the past 18 months. The country in which I found myself hardly drank coffee…And had never heard of a cafe that only sold just that. Upon my return to the beloved USA I decided to run by the cafe closest to my house and grab an iced passion tea. I still don’t drink coffee, but something is so familiar about the smell…and look of it all. I can’t say I hadn’t missed it.starbucks2

I placed my order and waited patiently as the barista prepared it for me. She asked me little, and I wasn’t impressed by her few words, and lack of genuine care. I wondered if I had ever been so self involved at work. She toyed with her phone while waiting on the water.

Me, the girl who believed that the barista should always get a tip started to question. Why would I give this girl a tip for giving me absolutely nothing more than what I had already paid for? Catching myself before becoming absolutely ridiculous in my thinking, I would rather give her the benefit of the doubt…I mean, maybe she was busy. Real busy. #sarcasm

SONY DSC

SONY DSC

As I wondered whether or not I wanted to add a dollar to the tip jar I pondered what life was like for me back then… In those days when I did the coffee brewing, pouring, spilling. The regulars. I can remember Trenta Iced Coffee Black, Tall Decaf Latte, Venti Black Extra Room, Grande Caramel Apple Spice.  Even now, years later I can see their faces. The faces of some of my dearest friends that had been lost by distance.

starbucks 3

Standing on the opposing side of the counter waiting on my drink I could suddenly see things much clearer about my past life.

And this was one thing I could see for sure…

I was one awesome barista.

But now, as I turn away from the counter I see so much, and so little do I understand.

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About Kelly R. Storts

Opinions, ideas, and thoughts make up who most of my identity. These things are fluid. I am constantly changing and growing, and learning who I am. Through writing down experiences with dating, loving, crying, breaking I just might become a better person. I remember listening to stories of love, life, and all the bubbles when I was younger. Those stories made me eager to have stories to tell myself. Hopefully writing the little that I know down I can help someone else find their fluid identity.
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