December 05, 2004
working girl
I have a Christmas job. I work at a coffee shop in the mall, making six bucks an hour plus whatever ends up in the tip jar. Mostly this involves mixing coffee drinks and smoothie-type blender jobs for white upper-middle-class suburban mommas and their spawnlings, bored teenage mallrats, and everyone else who works in the mall, including the mall rent-a-cops.
Generally speaking, the less work you do, the more likely you are to order a drink that takes more than thirty seconds to make. Mall workers get plain coffees or the premixed iced drinks. Suburban mommas trailing offspring get "large skinny decaf mocharettos with an extra shot of espresso" or "white chocolate cherry almond cookie chillers with whipped cream, caramel and sprinkles."
The exception here is the occasional retiree, who will inevitably want "just a cup of coffee, none of that froufrou stuff." I've had at least three people use the word "froufrou" to describe what they don't want. I find this vastly amusing for some reason.
There is also a very tall, shiny-pated, mean-looking man with a mustache, who I refer to as "the big bald guy," who comes in every day wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses and orders a large coffee. He gives me the impression that if I get his order wrong, he'll bite me. Though he always puts his change in the tip jar.
There is also a short, pudgy Asian regular customer who is diabetic. I'm afraid I'll accidentally forget the skim milk and sugar-free syrup and she'll end up on the floor in a coma and it'll be ALL MY FAULT. I doubt she'd tip if that happened.
I've worked with Margot, who is... well, a ditz. She told me the first day I worked with her that she "talks when no one else is to fill the silence." That day I wasn't talking much because I felt extremely nauseous. She proceeded to spend a five-minute break rambling nonstop about a turkey pot pie someone had brought to work a week or so ago, and how it was "soooo good! All runny and smelly and (etc.)..."
There is also Hunter, who is twenty-five and working there to make a car payment. Overall he's nice to work with, but I'm wondering if he doesn't mistake friendliness (and probably my being used to art-school innuendo-based humor) for flirtation; he mentioned his "long dry spell" of a whole four months today after I made some comment about the inefficacy of abstinence-only sex ed and a joke about carrying two milk jugs to the sink. I'm trying to work the fact that I'm not single, not looking, and not very interested in men into conversation as frequently as possible.
Since starting work there I've become incapable of smelling coffee. I've also begun to loathe the music they play over the PA, except for the James Bond theme that pops up occasionally. Thank God they don't play Christmas carols.
Generally speaking, the less work you do, the more likely you are to order a drink that takes more than thirty seconds to make. Mall workers get plain coffees or the premixed iced drinks. Suburban mommas trailing offspring get "large skinny decaf mocharettos with an extra shot of espresso" or "white chocolate cherry almond cookie chillers with whipped cream, caramel and sprinkles."
The exception here is the occasional retiree, who will inevitably want "just a cup of coffee, none of that froufrou stuff." I've had at least three people use the word "froufrou" to describe what they don't want. I find this vastly amusing for some reason.
There is also a very tall, shiny-pated, mean-looking man with a mustache, who I refer to as "the big bald guy," who comes in every day wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses and orders a large coffee. He gives me the impression that if I get his order wrong, he'll bite me. Though he always puts his change in the tip jar.
There is also a short, pudgy Asian regular customer who is diabetic. I'm afraid I'll accidentally forget the skim milk and sugar-free syrup and she'll end up on the floor in a coma and it'll be ALL MY FAULT. I doubt she'd tip if that happened.
I've worked with Margot, who is... well, a ditz. She told me the first day I worked with her that she "talks when no one else is to fill the silence." That day I wasn't talking much because I felt extremely nauseous. She proceeded to spend a five-minute break rambling nonstop about a turkey pot pie someone had brought to work a week or so ago, and how it was "soooo good! All runny and smelly and (etc.)..."
There is also Hunter, who is twenty-five and working there to make a car payment. Overall he's nice to work with, but I'm wondering if he doesn't mistake friendliness (and probably my being used to art-school innuendo-based humor) for flirtation; he mentioned his "long dry spell" of a whole four months today after I made some comment about the inefficacy of abstinence-only sex ed and a joke about carrying two milk jugs to the sink. I'm trying to work the fact that I'm not single, not looking, and not very interested in men into conversation as frequently as possible.
Since starting work there I've become incapable of smelling coffee. I've also begun to loathe the music they play over the PA, except for the James Bond theme that pops up occasionally. Thank God they don't play Christmas carols.
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# posted by Liadan @ 3:48 PM 
