It never ceases to amaze me how people react to a barista who looks like she stepped out of a moody 1960s French film. Today I wore my favorite black A-line mini dress with the white collar, paired with entirely too much black eyeliner. A regular customer actually stopped mid-order to ask if I was going to a costume party. A costume party! I hadn’t an idea at all how to respond without sounding incredibly rude, so I just smiled and handed over his triple-shot oat milk flat white. The coffee bar was relentlessly busy this morning. My hands were practically vibrating from the caffeine by noon. I love my job, but sometimes I wish I could just sit in a dark corner of a 1930s speakeasy instead of brightly lit modern Manhattan. I ended up texting my friend Faye on my break, but we quickly got into a tiff because she started lecturing me about dairy consumption again. I love her, but the militant veganism is exhausting when I just want to complain about a rude customer in peace.
nan's life in all the words.
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