Fully Fletched

I used to work at a coffee shop, and I got into the habit of referring to cus- tomers by their order.

“Hey, Vanilla Peak, what’s poppin’?

“Damn, Large Medium Roast got a Danish this morning. His wife’s going to be pissed.”

“Half Caf, playing hooky from work again?”

Sometimes the names matched the faces, like Large Dark, the gruff old man with leathery skin and a foul mouth,
or Small Light, the tiny blonde woman with the energy of a Chihuahua. So, if we’re following that pattern, when I or- der a large light roast and pass over my change with clumsy, shaking hands, the baristas must associate it with someone who’s a complete train wreck.

Having said that, my unbrushed hair, dirty fingernails, and the fact that every coin I scrape from the bottom of my purse is covered in lint and tobacco probably doesn’t help my case either.

And when I spilled that large cup of light roast all over my laptop on the second day of school, everybody, more than just the baristas, definitely knew I didn’t have my life together.

Oh yeah, you heard me—all over my laptop. Instead of printing “CAUTION: HOT” on the side they should just write “CAUTION: YOU’RE A HOT MESS.” I had hoped that my new teacher would base his opinion of me on my winning per- sonality and how well spoken (sarcasm) I am instead of my less-than-stellar appearance, but I definitely shot that horse in the face with this little episode. Yep, what’s up? Teach. I’m a disaster. Heck of a first impression.

Have no fear. After some TLC and a few days’ rest, my baby was up and run- ning as good as new. I would chalk this miraculous recovery up to good karma, but I don’t know how much of that I’ve actually saved up. Maybe it’s rollover karma passed down from my mom or something.

Being the brave soul I am, I haven’t let this catastrophe shake me off the coffee horse quite yet. Even as I sit here typing this, I have a lukewarm cup of my daily java injection beside me. It’s sitting in an airtight box on the floor with the lid duct-taped on, and the straw I’m drink- ing it out of is password-protected, but I’m still enjoying it.

Drink responsibly, my friends.

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