fireun: (coffee)
Today was volunteer with animal rescue day. So, I cleaned a lot of cat cages, cuddled the merry hell out of some Maine Coon kittens (they look like stuffed animals. seriously. I have no idea how Lord Phaedrus came from something so cute and fluffy and sweet) and then went over to get groceries on the way home (running out of toothpaste is not a pleasant event so we try to avoid it at all costs). This stop actually pleased me though, as it mean't I would get to stop at Starbucks and get the damn latte I have wanted for the better part of a week.

Of course not.

Big sign on the menu reading that their espresso machine is broke.

Ok. Well. I am a Big Girl. I can deal with this. I smile, let her know that is OK (much to her pleasure, she must have been getting slew of folks who were not pleased to be bereft of their latte). So I order an iced coffee- one of the few menu items that don't involve espresso or frothy milk. And I do really really like iced coffee.

...their register fails to work.

At this point, being a Big Girl seems like less of an option as I see my dreams of a happily caffeinated morning dissolving before my very eyes while the barista tries desperately to resurrect the machine. My lower lip snuck in a quiver. I could feel tears of thwarted hopes and dreams welling up in my eyes. 

And then the barista makes me an iced coffee, smiles, and wishes me a good morning. I blink. She tells me its on the house, since she can't ring it up.

I emptied my change (where DID all those quarters come from...) into her tip jar (the more socially acceptable alternative to leaping across the counter and hugging her). 

Were I still running a bookstore I would have tried to hire her on the spot.

March 2015

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