Opening shift at a coffeehouse is an early riser. You must be there by 5:30 AM... yes. AM! So I've gots to get meself out of bed at like 4:30ish, give or take a snooze button slap or two.
Yesterday, my papa woke me up at 5:15, asking if I needed to get up. Leaving the house at 5:15 is being late. So I jumped out of bed as fast as I could, threw on some jeans, boots, grabbed a pony-tail holder, and my glasses. I RAN out the door. I didn't wash... anything. Hygiene-challenged Hannah got to work a bit late. Darn it.
During this shift I spilled pipping hot coffee down my arm. I exclaimed, "OW OW OW!!!" The dear lady customer asks, "Is is hot?"... Ummm.... YES. Idiot.
My latte art skills sucked. "I hope you like what looks like an onion atop your latte!" Sheesh.
En suite ("And then" in french) I had to cut onions, actually. My eyes hated me.
My feet hated me for a 9 hour shift on my feet.
But I will endure all of these minor things. Cause I love the life of a barista. I love my job. 4:30 am and all.
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