ask the certified barista

Dear Barista Tracey,

You can sign me,
Unhappy Slappy

Oh, Slappy. Such a thing to make you so “unhappy.” Barista Tracey gently suggests there may be some answers you need that are best sought from a different kind of certified professional; however she will confine herself to the more elementary question at hand. Slappy, there are simply myriad reasons as to why your local barista might hate you with a white-hot hate. Let us not waste one moment more before divulging them to you. Barista Tracey hopes her list will be instructive for you, but she has her niggling doubts. If she squinks her eyes quite tightly, she does see the merest of glimmers, though: Acknowledging you are hateable is the first step towards becoming likeable, in her impeccable opinion.

So she will proceed, dauntless. Tantivy-tantivy!

(These are in no particular order of hateability):

1) You insist your latte be “extra hot.” Now, there is a temperature, Slappy, at which milk will scald. And it is generally accepted amongst the human population that milk does not taste good when scalded. Asking this shows a barista that, a) your taste buds do not function properly, and b) you are shamefully high maintenance, and c) you fancy yourself a coffee snob but lack the requisite knowledge to actually be a coffee snob, and therefore, d) of course, your local barista will happily comply and scald your drink, just the way you want it. Cheers, Slappy!

2) Your coffee is “too hot.” You require precisely 4 ice cubes to cool it down. You complain loudly when you see 5 little icebergs floating in your cup. You want one of them fished out. You refuse to do it yourself.

3) You are unable to blend your drink with half and half or milk or that clear liquid in your pocket flask without spilling it all over the condiment counter. You are a rude and wretched slob and leave your coffee puddle spreading on the counter for your local barista to mop up. You leave your coffeehouse quite marchy and pissy, wondering, always wondering WHERE is the damn love???

4) Similarly, you are unable to add Splenda or Equal or Sweet’n’Low or any other powdery substance to your drink without leaving a dusting of fakey sugary snow aaaallll over the condiment stand. You are still a rude and wretched slob and leave these tiny white cancer flurries for your local barista to wipe up. Where is the damn love, you inquire, Slappy??? In the trash with your puddles and flurries and your fished-out icebergs.

5) You leave your dishes on your table. There is a bus tub 2 feet from your table, but still, this smacks of effort far beyond your meager capacities. The BLEARY DRUNKEN BUM manages to bus his own table, but you, Slappy, so distracted by your relentless search for the damn love, abandon yet another mess for your local barista to tidy up for you.

Ah, Slappy. Barista Tracey apologizes, realizing, as she now does, that this will likely be a multi-part missive. Her vast reserves of wisdom must not be tapped all at once; Doing so, Slappy, would place a millstone too heavy with sagacity ’round your senseless neck and the necks of any other cretinous, coffee-swilling Slappies who might be reading along. And because Barista Tracey is a Sharer AND a Carer, she would never do such a dreadful, onerous thing to you. She is sure that you will understand, with your special gift of understanding, that she is exhausted from the mental and emotional toll of pondering your question and crafting this primer and trying, but failing to sound …. Victorian, she thinks. She is not really sure …..

She just needs some damn sleep.

So cheerio ’til next time, Slappy! Keep a good thought!

(Here’s one: DO try NOT to be an ASS!)