Coffeeshop Diaries

For those of you that don't know, I think my favorite job that I ever had was working at a coffeeshop in Kensington (Gentrified neighbourhood near downtown Calgary). For four years I made excellent coffee beverages, made fresh cookies and sandwiches, and dealt with the craziest of the crazies every single shift. It wasn't just my workplace- it was my home. It was where I went when I had something to mull over in my thoughts. Its where I met most of my friends. Its where I did the ministry that God was calling me to at that point in time (for the coffeeshop's main focus was actually building a bridge between Christ and Culture...a safe haven for those who were interested in knowing more about God and Christianity, but felt awkward going to a church building).

Anyhow, over the years I documented some of my experiences. I find them most humourous, but unless you worked there, everything I write will probably be just useless information....this is more to take me on a trip down memory lane than anything.

June 3/2002

It all started out with two alarms and a whole lot of confusion. I don't think my dream was ready for a conclusion, but it got one anyways. I was living in a nice condo on the beach somewhere in California, and all I could do was swim and sun tan...ahhh yeah. Then bitter reality set in: I'm still here in Calgary, the sky is still grey, and the beaches are still as non-existent as the population of good, hardworking (available) men. Oh yes, the air is smelling sweeter as I'm getting older. It only took a few moments for me to deal with the disappointment and clear the cob webs from my head. Time for another morning at the coffeeshop.

A little Pedro the Lion helped me deal with the water that flooded the bar area (keeping what sanity I've managed to save throughout my 20 years of existence). The first person in the door was the pastry guy, no chit-chat, just take the money and run. I don't think I had a crazy look on my face, and I DID shower...hmmm..must be him.

The rest of the morning consisted of pastry arranging, cleaning, cleaning some more, and then trying to look busy by cleaning. I think the most interesting conversation I had was with Ava about what we could do to keep her from kissing the boys that come into Hotwax (the record store Ava worked at in Kensington)...to prevent her from spreading what she thought was mono. Somehow that lead to a short but animated discussion on movies about aliens, evil men, ghosts, and vampires...what a gal.

The classifieds held nothing that was of interest to me: although, for someone who loved to see knives, or be in a cheap movie, or found a thrill in pulling teeth and making small children and adults alike cringe, I'm sure it was a lovely paper. How I wish comic book guy (no, not the one from The Simpsons) would come in today and grace me with his mysterious (but groovy) presence. I've maybe only served him once or twice, but I sensed an understanding between us. Although we haven't gotten beyond the "would you like that to stay or go" line, I think there's a good possibility we could be friends.

---The noise of the blender pulls me out of my thoughtful state of mind. I look out the window and see the heavy clouds (with promise of blue skies). That "OK Liquor Store" van has been sitting at that light for quite awhile. And four ladies walk out of the Tandoori Hut (East Indian Cuisine) dressed like they just flew in from India, then they got into their nice new shiny black Honda Civic....not that I'm dissatisfied with my brown '86 Chrysler New Yorker grandpa car that talks (hence, giving it the name Johnny 5, after the movie "Short Circuit"), but it just reminds me of how little money I have to be blowing on stupid things...it pains me to even buy groceries! I think the leader of the Hell's Angels just walked by with one of his many love slaves that looks as equally threatening as he does---

Back to my story..now where was I? Oh yeah, Comic Book guy. I met him a few weeks ago, I think it may have been on a weekend, probably in the late afernoon. Yeah, it was Saturday. Not an eye-catcher by some people's standards, but for some reason, he caught mine. And as I took off my apron, and made a move to sit near him up at the bar, who waltzes in the door, sits right between us, and puts his slimy arm around me? None other than that ethiopian guy who promises every girl he meets to make them an African queen. He asks me when we're going to get married, and I finally told him that I didn't want to bear his children. So he moved on to another subject...this time he claimed to know who bombed the twin towers on September 11th. Comic Book Guy continued with his sketches, not appearing to be bothered by this man claiming to be from Africa (who I'm pretty certain actually grew up in Saskatchewan), but the connection was broken. And as he packed his stuff and left (my heart sinking to the concrete floor), Ethiopian guy asks if that was my boyfriend. I said no, I didn't even know him. And he responds "Well, he seemed pretty mad when I came to sit between you two."

Curses! I honestly think I'm doomed to a life of near-hits. I keep getting those curve balls hurled at me. But its elementary school rules. I'm at bat until I hit that darn ball out of the park. No three strikes and I'm out...dang.

Anyways, my days don't really hold more than the $5 I made in tips. And my spare time is spent at the place I work and play. The House. Gotta love it.

Note: I believe that was the last time I ever saw the alleged Comic Book Guy
Note: That was the second last experience I had with the creepy "Ethiopian" guy from Saskatchewan
Note:The whole baseball talk was a metaphor for my crappy love life. I'm still swinging at those curve balls praying for a hit sometime in the future.
Note: I don't still drive an '86 New Yorker, but it was one of the coolest cars I ever had, despite its appearance