Here's a poem I wrote on my experience as a barista!

Barista

By: Madeline Hothem

step step step, right left right, as my quiet feet hit that tile floor.

beep beep beep, "Punch accepted at.." the melancholy phone voice says.

Filing through the hook full of aprons, a slight smile when I find the one with my name.

Criss-cross, one bunny ear, through the hole, second bunny ear, time for work "I guess."

Stumbling out the doors onto the floor, seeing the eager faces looking for something to wake them up.

As if our current world doesn't satisfy them enough, smiles are high and conversation is loud.

I walk over to the shiny machine, speak for just a moment, and then I begin.

White paper cups full of sharpied on request, and single letters that mean an entire drink.

Silver spoon and cup, dairy or non-dairy, it's up to them, I just fill to the line and steam.

The steam wand placed into the cup, foaming, leaving

syrup pumps, one, two, three, four, shot queued up, espresso pours out, one, two.

Reaching for the next paper cup, repeat, different drink, same thing, over and over.

Iced, hot, blended, tea, coffee, espresso, latte. Calling them out, name, size, specialties, drink, "Have a dandy day."

They walk away without a smile and hustle away without looking up, I never knew them.

Again and again, I will repeat, without confusion, until a question or a compliment arises.

I do not look up, someone comes up next to me, helps me.

Drinks being made faster and faster, as the line grows longer and longer.

I check my phone, the shift is over.

Pulls down on string, apron off.

beep beep, "Punch accepted at..." the phone voice says.