All Dressed Up

“Did you want whipped cream with that, miss?” the new guy behind the counter asks me for the gazillionth time. The frothy percussion of latte magic echoing from behind the counter muffles his voice.
“Oh, yes, please,” I say graciously, and I give a meager smile in an effort to mask the impatient lack-of-caffeine look in my eyes.
I really can’t complain. The line is moving rather quickly despite the lengthy trail of customers rapidly wrapping around the outside of the Corner Street Coffee Shop. It’s controlled coffee chaos—a small taste of New York City life in motion.
“Yes for whip on that macchiato, Shelly,” the new guy calls out to the other girl working frantically behind the counter. He squirts some sort of chocolate sauce on top of another drink order. Pavlov’s law in action, my mouth begins to water.
I have to say, the new guy is handling the morning rush quite well. He seems only lightly frazzled yet surprisingly in control. Now, I, on the other hand, would be a complete basket case if people were barking narrative-long drink titles at me all day. Take, for instance, the blonde girl behind me, with her trendy running clothes and toned quadriceps. She orders an organic, nonfat soy blah, blah, blah. A faithful coffee shop patron, I don’t even get it all myself. I wouldn’t expect the new guy to either.
I wait without complaint as the welcome bell rings and another patron takes his place in line. The light breeze from outside stirs a new wave of the scent of coffee beans throughout the air. There’s something energizing about this place that gets me going in the morning—I’m not sure if it’s the caffeine jolt, the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, or the vibrant energy of the hustle and bustle in general. I love how the cozy atmosphere here takes me back to memories of my grandmother’s kitchen: cheery and inviting, with dark maple floors and sunny yellow walls. Even down to the whimsical blue-and-green paisley curtains, this place makes me feel right at home. However, Corner Street still maintains a modern vibe with stainless-steel countertops, contemporary art displayed along the walls, and art deco lighting. The style is like Giada De Laurentiis meets Paula Deen.
“Here you go—a grande extrahot macchiato with whipped cream,” the new guy says, and he tightly snaps the black lid onto the yellow paper cup.
I step up to the counter, and the new guy hands me my daily contribution to the obesity epidemic. I squint to make out the small white print on his black name tag. He shifts his tall frame before I can focus. It’s not the greatest day to have forgotten my contacts. I’m like a walking bad eye exam.
“Busy morning, huh?” I ask with a hint more enthusiasm.
I hate to admit it, but I definitely fall into the not-a-morning-person category. Normally, it’s best not to speak to me before at least ten o’clock. I tend to be rather nonfunctioning as a human being until then. Morning coffee with a big dose of sugar mixed in has become essential to my daily survival.
“I’ll say. It’s pretty crazy,” the new guy replies. He is slightly out of breath, yet his smooth, melodic voice resonates a sense of calm collectedness under pressure.
“You’re new, right?” I ask. Duh, like that isn’t obvious.
“Let’s just say I’m a barista in progress,” he replies confidently but with a modest smile. I immediately notice his striking grin, like one of those pretty people on the teeth-whitening commercials.
“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re doing a superb job for your first few days.” I bashfully grin and push a strand of overhighlighted brown hair behind my ear.
“Thanks,” the new guy says graciously, arching his eyebrows underneath his cap.
“I mean, you almost need a degree in rapid cognitive memory to work here. I would never remember who wanted whipped cream. Uh, not that your memory isn’t excellent.” I continue babbling when I really should be quiet. I have this nervous habit of talking just to fill up empty space.
The new guy chuckles as he looks down at me over the low glass barricade. I feel as if I should look away, but I can’t help myself. Even without my contacts, I can see well enough to know he’s completely adorable.
“My name’s Katelyn, by the way. I come here almost every day—gotta have my caffeine fix, ya know.” I giggle sheepishly.
He smiles warmly and tips the front of his tan-colored coffee-shop cap; a dark brown ringlet escapes and falls in front of his eye.
“I look forward to seeing you, Katelyn—grande extrahot macchiato with whipped cream.”
I point in his direction as if he’s just answered the million-dollar question. “You got it,” I say. “See? You’re a pro already.”
Pivoting on the heel of my slightly used black-leather pumps, I give the new guy a friendly wave good-bye and turn to leave.
“I’ll see ya around,” I say cheerfully.
“See ya,” he replies, kindly raising his hand to return the gesture.
Boy, new guy has his hands full. I do hope to see him tomorrow. He’s easy on the eyes, and he’ll certainly be a nice accompaniment to my daily coffee ritual. Unfortunately, I’ve noticed that the turnover rate at the coffee shop seems to be pretty high. There are new guys and girls every other week, it seems. No wonder—look at that line; I wouldn’t last an hour.
I carefully maneuver myself around the growing line of coffee drinkers waiting their turn. “Excuse me,” I say politely to the old guy standing near the entrance; he’s holding a copy of the latest New York Times.
The old guy is also a regular. He reminds me of Gandalf from the Lord of the Rings movies, except he has a shorter beard and doesn’t have the long, billowing robe and wizardly powers. He likes to sit at the same corner table, sip his coffee, and intently read the paper. Then there’s the goth girl; she’s claimed the small booth in the opposite corner from the old guy. She’s constantly pushing her unnaturally jet-black hair behind her ears, away from numerous silver body piercings. She seems a bit angry as she vigorously writes in some sort of daily journal. And of course, there’s me, rushing in to grab my caffeine jolt before heading to the most boring job of all time.