The Barista

For the record: I am not lonely. I don't enjoy how much I dream of a date, in fact, I hate that about myself. Meh, oh well. I am a product of my Disney-Princess-Happy-Ending upbringing.

In the lazy days of summer, miles away from my best friends in the world, and on opposite schedules of my two friends still in town, I have a lot of down time. This makes it so that the majority of people I have daily contact with are people from The Job, and my "friends" at Bucky's. I call them friends, but I only know a few names. And I would be lying to you if I told you I would go everyday regardless of the presence of The Barista.

Oh, The Barista. How I love him so. He speaks Spanish with his Spanish-speaking customers and I'm a sucker for foreign languages. I really want to be good at one (just one!) someday, therefore his fluency just adds to his hotness. He is adorably interesting and I think we made progress today. Let me describe to you the scene.

Imagine: your everyday mall Starbucks, cheesy music, green aprons, and an incredibly long line of frappuccino thirsting people. The Barista sees me, smiles hello (does he look happy to see me?), takes the drink orders of the people in front of me and finally says, "Coffee?"
"Just a tall today, thanks."
My spot is taken. Most of the seats at the counter are taken. I sit at an empty table and dive into my Arab-Israeli Reader while they take care of the rush. Finally my spot is open, I settle into the comfy cushions triumphantly and look up to find myself making direct eye contact with The Barista. I smile, he smiles back.
"I got my spot."
"I'm glad."
"How are you today?"
"Oh not bad. Busy"
(I know, what a deep and meaningful conversation)
Later he comes out with his little broom and dustpan and starts sweeping the rather clean floor. He comes over by my chair, sweeps once right under my feet and says:
"I got that one crumb"
I, like always, desperate for conversation, ask if I can put my stirrer in his little garbage thing. He says yes.
(This is the good stuff)
He stops and looks like he is about to say something but can't come up with anything.
I look up at him from my chair and just chuckle. He laughs back. Oh he has a precious smile.

The small pleasures of life. Maybe one day he will ask me what I am doing after work.

If not, my Tall Glass of Water might.