Thursday, April 22, 2004

Iced, not Frozen

"Who ordered the grande iced latte?"
"Right here", I answered.
The barista held up a blender filled with ice, espresso, and a powdered mixture.
"Oh. Would you like a frozen one?", he asked, his face almost pleading with me to say yes.

I didn't really want a frozen one, which is why I specified iced, and why he wrote down iced on the order slip. If the truth be told, had I been in Seattle, the capital of coffee, I may have not let something like that go and would have asked for the iced one anyway. But I was in Cleveland, Tennesee, where the art of espresso really isn't a priority. I also knew what it was like to be in his shoes, the only barista behind the counter and a long line of tired people impatiently waiting to order and get drinks. Somehow between taking a ton of orders and mixing drinks, a short happens in a barista's brain every now and again. Even though this is completely normal, you always get a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you have to tell the customer it's their drink that you've botched up.

"Yeah, that's okay. I'll take it. Just make it runny."
He gave me a relieved smile. "Do you want whipped cream on that?"
"Sure, that would be great."

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