No Sugar Tonight In My Coffee

This is me, steaming milk for a latte.

Saturday, July 25

Yesterday was my last day working as a barista at Colectivo Coffee. I've got really mixed feelings about this, mostly because I don't really know what's coming next...but also partly because we made damn good coffee, and after working there for a year, I'm not sure I want to quit the caffeine.

My first day on the job, in August of last year, I started off learning to make basic drip coffee. People like drip coffee; it's fairly inexpensive,
and hot, and full of caffeine. It's especially popular on business mornings, probably for the obvious reason.

And then I learned how to make other basic drinks, like smoothies and teas* and iced chai. I learned how to use the register and how to make and serve a sandwich. I woke up at quarter after four in the a.m., so I could open the store at 5.

And then I started working on on bar, first learning espresso, then milk steaming. In between other duties, I practiced.

I practiced more.

Colectivo's process of training baristas is, I'm told, a rigorous one in the world of coffee shops. I had to learn how to talk about espresso—to describe it as, “cherry with a hint of cola,” or, “grapefruit and pine notes with a buttery finish,” rather than the words most people come up with when they first describe espresso: bitter. Caffeinated. Coffee. Acidic. Gross. I learned how to change the flavors from acrid to drinkable**, in a process called 'dialing in'.

Latte art--this is why we don't add whipped cream!

I learned how to steam different types of milk, in different quantities, with different textures and temperatures.

I practiced.

It took a long time to be a 'certified' barista, and it felt even longer than it actually took. And it wasn't until I was making drinks for eight hours a day for three weeks straight that I felt remotely in control of what I was doing. For something as simple as putting together espresso and milk, it was insanely complex.

I liked my job. Coffee was fascinating. Espresso gained complexity as I tasted it, and built a mental catalog of what to expect from our regular espresso blend. I tried the blends and single-origin coffees Colectivo offered, and discovered different pour-over methods***.  Oddly enough, even after a year with excellent coffee, there are a million things I still don't know.

As much as I'd be happy to continue exploring coffee, though, the schedule started wearing on me. Some days I worked at 5am. Some days I worked at 10. Some days I worked a full shift starting at 2 in the afternoon. I'd get homesick, and work for ten days straight so I could fit in a four-day visit home. On top of that, I wasn't exactly eating regularly. Or taking medications regularly. Or sleeping normal hours.

This isn't atypical of most service industry jobs, but it was quite distressing when I figured out that I was working as much as I had my fifth year in college...and yet somehow doing a worse job of self-care than when I was also taking eight classes.

So when it comes down to it, I needed to leave, at least for a little while. Right now I'm on a train traveling across Michigan in the dark. It'll be pulling into the Ann Arbor station close to midnight, and from there...well, I'm still working on it, but I'll figure it out.

A Night In Tunisia (Oh, Sorry, I Meant Minneapolis)

It's amazing how many things I still haven't gotten around to doing, even after a year of living in Madison. This past weekend, for instance, was the first time I boarded a bus and traveled to Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I spent the weekend doing two things: spending time with my family, and attending a tiny-but-awesome sci-fi/fantasy convention called 4th Street Fantasy.

Ah, the magnificent Midwest!

Unlike traveling to Chicago, it was a painless journey, full of rolling clouds and a lot of trees humping up between cheerful green fields. At the end of it—only five hours, with no bus transfers, and no zig-zags—I tumbled out of the bus fumes and travel cramps, ready for the challenge of finding my way around a new city (with some help from my fantastic cousin) and the slightly more nerve-wracking challenge of being among a group of entirely unknown people. Some of whom were incredible authors that I have admired for a very long time; specifically, Pamela Dean, Patricia C. Wrede, and Caroline Stevermer.

Hopefully, I wasn't too much of a fool—except, of course, that these are my rock stars, my favorite actors of Hollywood fame. At best, I managed to have half-way intelligent but still embarrassing conversations with these authors. I've been told that being kind to your audience comes with the job description, and these ladies were nothing short of gracious. I sat and sweated and chatted about going back to fix world-building problems with Pat Wrede, who knitted the entire time. Pamela Dean and I talked about the brilliant books of Diana Wynne Jones, and T.S. Eliot, and her own books. Maybe next time I'll get past the weakness of character that comes with being star-struck—after all, everyone at this con was reassuringly human (whatever non-human characters they might write).

It was a very full weekend. I still feel muddled up and over-expanded with new people—ideas—information—books to add to my Must-Read-Immediately list—new places. It was my first con, and also the first time in awhile I've had a chance to see my cousin Cynthia. The first time, too, that I met her husband. In between me running off to squee over panels on genre-crossover and misdirection in novels and good vs. evil in apocalyptic settings, I spent some quality time with my family. A late-night walk, an evening fire, a glass of wine—we even managed to squeeze in breakfast with my aunt, who lives much closer to Minneapolis than I thought.

I can't formulate the past three days into any kind of narrative, or bring out any connective thread in my mind. A lunchtime tea with a wonderfully knowledgeable hostess—picking black raspberries from Cynthia's small garden—chatting with author Django Wexler, whose works are now at the top of my Must-Read-Immediately list—the inspiration that comes from smart people talking about writing...these things don't hang together and yet crammed themselves into this weekend, almost on top of each other. 

Did I mention the tea tasting? There was a tea tasting. It was delicious.

I'd like some more time to sort through them before going back to normal life. More time to examine the meeting of minds, the inspiration to write, the similarities of life to the fantastical. But time spins on, even as I write this, and the world grows smaller again--no wonder so many people read fantasy.