This morning, I opened the store at 5:30 am. We had been slow all week, and our manager was trying to cut back on scheduling hours. Everyday, people were being sent home early, and I was expecting today to be one of those days. Not. We had a healthy and steady business, a lot of people not just getting coffee, but buying beans and inquiring about our coffee machines. Really a great Saturday at work.
I do love my job--I love my partners that I work with and my customers. And I love coffee. I don't know why this job is such a good fit for me. When we are busy, even overwhelmingly busy, I'm happy. I'm happy when we have a line around the building to the drive-through and hoards of people in the store ordering at the counter. I'm happy when I'm "working bar" and cups are lined up ready to be made. I'm not selling just one pound of coffee, but two per customer every single time. And I know each coffee, intimately. I remember how each one smells and tastes, and I have instant recall of it everytime I'm describing a coffee to a customer. I know where it's grown, how it's processed and what tastes best with it, and not necessarily just what is in the pastry case. And, I have stories. Stories about the coffee, the farmers and the history of coffee. When I come home, I smell like coffee. It's in my hair, my clothes and my skin. Sometimes, ground coffee is up my nose, because before I press a coffee, I smell it beforehand.
If it sounds like I work hard at my job, well, it really isn't work to me at all. If I really worked hard, there would be so much more fun to be had. I have just touched the tip of what I would want to know about coffee. I see that there is so much more ahead of me.