Sometimes I write in a coffee shop. As cliche as it is, I don’t care. The coffee shop I write at is awesome. There’s cool art on the walls, lots of cool books to check out, and board games you can play. It’s like an after school club. A great place for creative types. I usually order a tea or some type of latte, break out my laptop, and
scroll through Facebook write . It’s also good change of venue from writing at my boring apartment.
A few days ago I was there having a writers session* with two of my friends. And I decided to inquire about the help wanted sign. The barista told me they needed someone right away with barista experience. I don’t know how to work an espresso machine but I’m pretty sure you don’t need a degree in espressology. I filled out an application anyway. The owners called me the next day and asked if I could come in for an interview. So of course I started judging myself before I even got the job. I sarcastically thought; “Oh really, you’re just going to work at a coffee shop AND be an aspiring writer? Oh good luck with that.” Yes, I can be very cynical of myself.
Anyway, I went to the interview right before I had to be at my job at the restaurant. And I know you’re not suppose to judge a book by it’s cover but the owners were not what I expected. The coffee shop has a cool laid back super California beach vibe. So imagine my surprise when the owners were a nerdy old white professor type (think Mr. Feeny) and a little Asian woman with a heavy accent. I totally expected white people with dreads or something. They were sweet. But the interview was super awkward, full of long pauses and stare downs. The Asian lady, lets call her, Barbra (a completely racially unspecific name that is not far off from her real name) wanted to put me on the schedule ASAP. I felt pressured and unprepared. But I agreed to start to training days later.
After the interview I texted my guy friends telling them I would be working at our favorite kick it spot. And that I would possibly hook them up with the other hot baristas’. Then, while I’m at work, Mr. Feeny leaves me a message saying they got another girl with more barista experience to start. So they wouldn’t be needing me to start. Whether that story is true or not I don’t know. What I do know is the universe was either punishing me for talking so much shit about the job in the first place. Or by not taking that job some other major planetary life shift just took place setting me on an entirely different path. A path that will hopefully lead to me landing a job doing something I’m passionate about, like writing. I like to believe the latter is true.
*Writers Session – When my friends and I meet at the coffee shop and play the “What if” game. It’s not really a game, it’s just us throwing around a bunch of random funny ideas like: what if Donald Sterling was Batman? Just imagining him busting out of the bat suit is enough for me.