The five people you meet in a coffeehouse

Otter, Cricket and I have a Saturday (and usually Sunday) morning ritual.  We wake up, we snuggle, we get dressed, and we travel to our local coffee shop.  Once there, Otter takes Cricket out of her kennel (which is actually just her carseat, but with four dogs, it's difficult to keep our terminology straight), and holds her in a position that will encourage onlookers to comment on her cuteness.  I go to the counter and order our usual drinks: a four-shot extra large nonfat peppermint white mocha for him, and a large coffee for me (interesting that Otter orders the fruity drink, isn't it?)  While I wait for our drinks, a small crowd surrounds Otter and ooohs and ahhhs over Cricket, all the while commenting on how great it is to see a father so engaged with his child.  Otter shrugs it off, but if you look closely enough, you'll see that cocky little twinkle in his eyes that he gets when he's trying to act like he doesn't secretly love the attention.  I roll my eyes at least seven times and mutter under my breath.

Our drinks slide down the counter, and I carry them to our seats.  The crowd parts, and the divorced, middle-aged Jazzercise ladies realize that Otter is not, in fact, single.  They scurry away, cellulite rumbling beneath their be-spandexed thighs.

Otter and I then spend the next 30 minutes chatting and cooing over our sweet baby girl.  We people-watch.  We invent little stories and internal monologues for the people around us.  Usually, we reserve our observations for the patrons of the coffee shop, but today, my attention was drawn to the people who work behind the counter. 

It occurred to me, as I was sucking down the last of my drink, that at any given coffee shop, there are always the same five people behind the counter.  There always seem to be these same five character types working at every cofee place in every city across the country, and it doesn't matter if it's a huge chain or a hole-in-the-wall.  As a former management-type person in the coffee-shop business, I can speak with authority on this topic. 

First and foremost, there is always a Pat.  Pat is the store manager-slash-den mother of the group who is neither entirely male nor entirely female.  Pat spend most of his/her time trying desperately to be cool enough that the staff thinks he/she is funny, and strict enough that they don't slack off.  In short, Pat is a loser.  Pat is typically found in shapeless khaki trousers, a nondescript white polo, and some form of orthopedic footwear.  He/she always invokes images of a Lifetime Original Movie character who finds him/her self in the throes of middle-age, despite the fact that Pat is probably only in his/her late-twenties.  Whether or not you ever hear Pat speak, you somehow know that his/her voice will most likely come out in a nasally whine.  When you ask yourself what Pat's life is like outside of work, you are instantly aware that this is a trick question; Pat has no life outside of work.  No, he/she prefers to spend any and all free time perusing the retails racks at the store and wondering how to better arrange all 147 coffee cups.  If Pat was a meal, he/she would be a Lean Cuisine: nothing exciting, and a little depressing.

Next, we have Heidi, the Keyholder.  Heidi, a kickboxing germaphobe, was born with a scowl on her face.  While all the other coffeeshop staff are bouncing about gaily to the politically-correct Reggae playing in the background, Heidi's well-tended brow is furrowed and she's standing with her bony hand on her sharp-cornered hip.  Weighing in at a paltry 87 pounds, Heidi carries her keys on a plastic spiral cord, placed very deliberately on her elbow.  Heidi wants everyone to be damn sure that although she is not Pat, she is the next in charge, thank you.  On her breaks, Heidi chain smokes, eats half a grape, throws it back up in the bushes, and bitches to her regulars that she'd be in charge if her distric manager wasn't such an asshole.  Should you make the most fatal error in coffeehouse judgement (not knowing what you want to order when you reach the counter) Heidi will roll her eyes, jerk her chin to the next person in line, and snappily ask them what drink she can get started.  Your butt puckers a little when Heidi looks at you, because you're afraid you'll order your drink wrong and then she'll yell at you.  And although Heidi's dialogue with customers is technically polite, her disdain for the idiots who frequent her counter is obvious.  Heidi is, basically, a bitch.

Then, we move on to Taylor, the Latte Boy.  He is beautiful.  And probably a little stoned.  A career hippie, he almost always shows up fifteen minutes late in a dirty, crumpled apron.  He is he personification of bedhead, only prettier.  And much as Pat would like to be mad when Taylor screws up, Taylor is just so stinkin' cute that Pat just shakes his/her head and wags a metaphorical finger.  Taylor is the guy who doesn't really know how to make all the drinks on the menu, and doesn't really care.  If you order a large vanilla latte, you know that you will probably receive a small peppermint mocha.  And when he slides you the incorrect beverage, his soulful eyes bid you from across the bar, and you instantly forget both what you ordered and how to spell your own name.  Taylor is a vegan.  He thinks you should be, too.  You imagine Taylor smells like a cross between dirt and cupcakes.  Should you actually muster up the nerve to chat with this adorbale creature, he will most likely tell you to stop by his next "gig," located in the moldy basement of some other coffee shop; one that is far less "corporate and bureaucratic."  Yep, Taylor plays the guitar, too.  And although he would probably have to do little more than burp into the microphone to gather a crowd, you can tell just by looking at him that he's a brilliant musician.  And so can every other girl in the shop.


And then, of course, there's Becky, the Pastry Caser.  She never shuts up.  Becky's cheerful smile and wide-eyed innocence about the world make you want to throw up a little.  This girl doesn't make lemonade out of lemons; she makes whole damn lemon chiffon cake by hand and serves it to the homeless.  On Christmas.  Always behind the case, shuffling pastries, Becky is a half-donut away from a coronary.  You want to tell her to drop the tongs and back away from the baked goods, slowly.  And as much as you want to like her chipper personality and friendly banter, you also kind of want to cover her mouth with duct tape.  If Becky hears someone exclaim, "Good Lord!," she exuberantly replies, "Yes, He is!"  This makes you think Becky needs to get a life.  Becky almost always wears a ribbon in her hair, and an ill-fitting belt.  Then again, when you're Becky's size, all belts are ill-fitting.  You're not sure whether to envy Becky's positive outlook on life, or feel sorry for her.  So, instead, you pretend to be talking on your cell phone when you walk up to the counter, so you don't have to make polite conversation with this habitual chatterbox.

And, last but not least, there is always a Tina Teenager.  She is cute as a bug's ear, and about as smart as a Bartlett pear.  She blinks a lot.  Tina always manages to make her uniform look like a cheerleading costume.  She works at the coffee house as a severely part time job, which explains why she always seems a little confused.  When she talks to you, her head is cocked at a 45-degree angle, and you feel the need to speak very slowly.  You order your drink, and it's not until you've already repeated it twice that she realizes she needs to write it down.  Tina is the girl who spends ten minutes looking for a pen... and there's always one stuck in her perfectly-highlighted ponytail.  She thinks Taylor is adorable, and Taylor thinks she's an idiot.  Tina, on any given shift, will almost always have a new boyfriend or have just dumped the last one; whichever the case, this poor schmuck will show up and hang out by the counter, hoping to catch her attention.  And Tina usually pretends not to notice, which drives him crazy.  Tina will someday be crowned Miss Teen Michigan, but will blow her chance at Nationals because of a conspicuously-placed tramp stamp.

Next time you frequent your local caffine-delivery station, take a step back for a minute and watch.  I guarantee you that you will find all five of these characters behind the bar.  And if you only find four, remember that Heidi's on her break, bitching at a regular.