My Favorite Barista

"My Favorite Barista" by Vance Hatch

Don’t get me wrong, to my favorite barista, I knew I was no more than just another blended coffee drink name. I knew I would have a hard time finding another Starbucks like this. I also knew my favorite Barista could never be replaced.

I moved not too long ago, and found the thing I missed the most about where I used to live was spending time in the local Starbucks. The atmosphere created by the employees, especially my favorite barista, named Rebecca, was fun and welcoming. She was outgoing, pretty, intelligent, and hard working. Seeing her move about and do her job was like watching an organized tornado. Still, there was a sense of comfortable community in that space.

After a month of casually visiting other Starbucks in my new community, I decided to drive down to my old town and visit my favorite. I was in luck. Rebecca was there. Her back was to me as I walked in the door. She was behind the counter, but not in her usual place. Someone else was the the barista today. She was at the register.

“Hi, Rebecca.” I chimed.

She whirled around. My heart jumped a beat. I’d forgotten how pretty she really was. An instant look of recognition flashed across her face.

She turned her body a little toward the barista, held up her finger in my direction to silence me, and excitedly called out, “Hey, Grande-Mocha-Carmel-Frappuccino-no-whipped-cream guy is back!”

She remembered me.

Like a tornado she is, she quickly snapped up a Grande cup, swept the Sharpie from the hip pocket of her green apron, slid the tip of the pen cap into her mouth and gently bit down and pulled to pop the tip off. Leaving it in her mouth, she scribbled on the cup and slid the cup to the Barista, while sliding the pen into the cap gently clinched in her mouth. Popping the cap back on the pen, she dropped the pen back in her apron, all while ringing up my order.

“So, I wondered what happened to you.” She inquired, deftly snatching the Starbucks Christmas Gift Card from my hand, she cocked her head, while swiping it through the machine.

I reluctantly informed her, “I moved.”

She shifted her weight and her hand flipped her hair; searching my eyes. “Yeah, I wondered if I’d see you here again. I’m a supervisor now.” The receipt was printing as she smiled at me and brushed a strand of her soft sandy-blond bangs from her eyes. Somehow, now that she had more authority, the tornado had more power. I felt her pull. I really had missed this Starbucks.

Aware that caffeine-starved customers were already arriving in the line behind me. I felt I never seemed to have the chance to talk to her before she would whirl off to other drink orders.

The sound of Rebecca tearing the receipt from the little printer brought me back to her green eyes. They were accented by the green in her apron. Actually, everything around her seemed to accent her eyes. Somehow, I managed a compliment.
“Well, you are my favorite barista.”

I think I saw her blush a little. She looked away from my eyes just as my knees began to feel weak; glancing at my receipt as she started to hand it back to me. She suddenly stopped. Pulling the receipt back ,she asked in a slightly accusing tone, “Hey, have you been to another Starbucks?”

I wasn’t sure exactly what I was being accused of. “No.”

Okay, I lied. I don’t know why I lied. This is something, I think, that has to do with men in general. Looking in her eyes I was convinced I would never ever had ever dared go to another Starbucks. I knew I had, but I wouldn’t. I knew I did, but I couldn’t. It's clear that I get confused that way, and I am convinced this is a thing with men in general.

I kept on with the lie. “No, I would never –“

“- Last time you were here,” she interrupted, “your balance on this card was almost twenty-nine dollars. Now, it is less than a dollar.” She looked away and thrust the receipt toward me. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me as she handed me the receipt and my card. “You didn’t spend that here.” She stated very matter-of-factly, “You’ve been cheating on me.”

I looked at my card; angry. I had been outed by a Christmas-themed Starbucks card: betrayed by Frosty the Snow-Snitch and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Spy-Deer. I was caught in the lie. I glanced at the line behind me.

Everyone was staring at me. A short lady right behind me was smiling. I blinked. Suddenly, I realized what was going onand turned back to look at Rebecca.

She had cocked her head again, wondering what I was going to say.

I fought the urge to smile and squinted my eyes. “I can explain,” I objected in a deep voice.

Her eyes came to life. A smirk coiled on her lips and then disappeared. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.” She batted her eyelids in expectation.

“Okay, I did it. I cheated. I confess, but it was only once.” Someone in the line behind me gave out a laugh-snort. It was the short lady... I was sure.

“Oh, sure, I’ve heard this before.” Rebecca declared dramatically.

“It didn’t mean anything.” I insisted.

She paused, placed a hand on her hip and set her jaw. A few more in line started to giggle at the awkward silence now hanging between us. I wasn’t sure if I was winning or loosing. It was a fantastic feeling.

I pointed at the menu. “I have needs.”

“I don’t have to take your Frap anymore.” She declared.

The sudden burst of outright laughter of the line behind me caught me off guard. Her eyes squinted. I was amazed. Her wit matched the speed of the whirl-wind. She was a force of nature; unstoppable. I could tell she was wondering if I would be able to keep up.

“Oh, yeah?” I stumbled, mind racing. “Well, there have been lots of others.”

The line erupted in laughter again. Rebecca opened her eyes wide. Had she found her match? The room seemed energized and static; the moment before an earthquake, the calm before a new storm.

“And they did things.” I blurted out.

“Things? Like what?” She challenged me, calling my bluff.

I was in a corner. She had me, and she knew it. The line was silent again. Should I have quit while I was ahead? I looked straight into the eye of the storm. “Different things.” I said as if asking a question.

“Different… how?” She now insisted in a deep voice.

"Different..." I grasped at the first thing coffee related that came to my mind. "... body."

She blinked. Acting hurt, hand on her heart, she gently whispered, “You don’t like my body?”

There it was, laughter all around me again. She was good.

“No… I mean, Yes… I mean -” I tried to catch my thoughts.

She carefully queried, “What did you like about their body?”

"Well, it wasn't so much the body, as the boldness.” I said, and managed to get a bigger laugh.

“Bold, huh. What else?” Rebecca was obviously confident that she could have kept me on this track until I ran out of ideas, and I already had. She had control again. I couldn’t let her keep it.

“Truth be told," I softly whispered, "no one grinds like you do.”

Rebecca blushed, and the lady behind me gasped. Leaning over the counter towards me, Rebecca's cheeks were red, and her eyes seemed to spark. Now I had the pull. I was the force to be reckoned with. I leaned into her too. “And the way you steam...”

She suddenly pulled away. “No! You cheated on me, and I’ll never forgive you. You need help.”

“I need help?" I acted incredulous. "Me? You think I need help? You don’t even know my name.” I was convinced she couldn’t see this one coming. She had never said my name, without it being written on a cup. That day, she hadn't asked my name when I gave her my order. I had her. I felt like lighting was about to strike in Starbucks.

“That’s right. My name is not Grande-Caramel-Mocha-Frappuccino-No-Whipped-Cream Guy.” I looked at her. I knew I had struck true and fast. I had won.

But, why was she smiling? Her eyes left mine and looked over to the Barista.

The Barista lifted my cup, looked at it to read what was written on it and shouted, “Vance! Your drink is ready!”

I winced.

Rebecca looked back at me; purposeful and victorious. The line erupted in laughter. The short lady behind me actually clapped. I was a mere voltage spark against the electric green-eyed tornado.

I cleared my throat. Acting the proud but defeated man, I quickly walked over and humbly picked up my drink from the small round counter the barista placed it on.

The woman was placing her order, while others in line discussed what they just witnessed. I was going to leave, when something suddenly dawned on me. I spun around and stared at Rebecca.

With the tip of the pen in her mouth, she was watching me and smiling.

Her smile covered me like a warm wind after a cold snap. I was more than just another blended coffee drink. Rebecca knew my name.