Barista Monologues - Poem by Jace Stonewell
Today is a great day! I can feel it!
As I dawn my hat and apron I can feel my excitement about to burst as I prepare myself for this glorious challenge before me.
Nothing can bring me down!
As I walk into my establishment of business and assume my role at the register I’ll look to you with a wide grin and proudly ask “What can I get for you today! ”
The morning rolled along nicely, the usual few caffeine addicted jerks would come in and cause a little scene over something as trivial as a super precise temperature they’d want their drink at,
145 degrees nothing colder nor hotter or else it’s just undrinkable.
But as per usual, I survived and was forced to move on smoothly into the afternoon with an irked smirk and a “Will that be all for today? ”
With every new face that walks through those doors I can’t help but feel what little sliver of hope I had left in humanity and its ability to be a decent and civil being slip away.
Especially you… you, the person who comes to my store, almost specifically, with the sole purpose of causing hate and despair in every workers life.
You, with your ultra-specific and borderline utopic order which you’d have to be a brain dead chimp to not understand or make perfectly.
You with your iced tea with three and a half sugars, inch and one quarter of cream, sitting perfectly at 69 degrees in room temperature with only, ONLY, twelve cubes of ice.
Well you better believe I’ve been waiting for you all day a midst all the other imbeciles who come in.
Today I finally snap and give you what you deserve!
I will take your tea ridiculousness and stand up to your tyranny of gross self-entitlement because today the jokes on you!
You get thirteen cubes of ice.
Then I shall banish you from my store with an exasperated, “Thank you, have a nice day.”
My break Is over and so is my mental breakdown of the day,
I only cried once so I’ve got that going for me which is nice.
But, sadly it’s back into the fray.
Back to the ceaseless stupidity that drags its feet through those doors.
I can’t help but think to myself as you stare at the menu like a deer in the headlights if this is what hell is truly like and what have I done to deserve this.
Customer after customer, order after order, my anxiety grows just like my now new fondness of being a hermit for the rest of my days.
My sight is growing dark and I begin to slip away into another place far far away from here.
Wait a minute…. What’s this?
There’s a light.
A bright light! It feels like… hope.
Or a swift death which I’m also currently alright with too, but no!
It’s a sound.
It’s… my manager?
That’s not a sound I want to hear.
Hang on… it’s time to go home?
Oh happy day!
I’m finally done with this place! I’m free of this mind numbing insanity and persistent idiocy!
No more bullshit nor your dirty looks!
I’m long gone like Gary Busey’s mind and you all can suck it! I’m never coming back!
Well… that is till tomorrow at 7: 30 because I really don’t want to get fired…
Topic(s) of this poem: work
Form: Prose Poem
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