Dispatches from Lawrence, a Barista with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing
In an effort to expand our horizons, The Correctness has been asking a few funny people to write and article or two for us. Improbably, some of them said yes. This one is by the oft hilarious Dawn Dumont, who resides in Edmonton.
Day 1
What a lark! The local coffee shop has hired me to sling coffee. Perfect employment while I work on my novel. Less Henry James, more Graham Greene, my novel will be fuelled with free coffee.
Boss looks like she might be storing enough food in her bosom to feed a small town during a blackout. Black hair, dark eyes and a nose that reminds me of a chocolate bar. She has the aroma of beans. Not coffee beans. Baked beans.
I had to stifle a laugh as she went over the benefit package to me; I told her not to bother I’m hardly going to be here more than a month.
She told me that the guy before me also had a master’s degree in English. “He ended up strangling himself with his belt while he was masturbating. Weirdo.”
Spent the day learning how to use the cash register. Money – the boring preoccupation of the plebian masses.
Still expecting the job to be a lark! Oh Hemingway, how you would laugh!
Day 2
My trainer turned out to be a goddess named Jennifer. “Call me Jenny,” She said. But in my heart she will be known as Guinevere, the Arthurian queen renowned for her beauty and grace. She taught me basics of steaming, grinding and pouring. “You’re pretty good,” she said, “It took me weeks to figure out the steam machine.” Beautiful and humble. Spend half hour daydreaming about marrying Guinevere and watching her polish my Pulitzer.
The crowds stream into the store like a tsunami; wave after wave of caffeine deranged fools sweeps over me. I am almost swept away into the dark depths of insanity. Guinevere’s sweet face leads me back to the surface each time.
Day 3
Venti half caf extra hot half sweet non-fat mocha with whip – this is the drink that nearly broke the proverbial camel’s back. I hold back the urge to spit in the face of the man who ordered it. Imagine this: it came from a man with a hardhat tucked under his arm. How sad that the proletariat has succumbed to the vices of the upper class. I almost said as much but he appeared more Neanderthal than Hominid.
Worse. I was jotting down a few notes on character development for my novel in the backroom when my boss yelled, “Hey Fancy pants, we need you out here” right in front of Guinevere. I barely conceal my rancor.
Later, a low fat brownie fell onto the floor. Boss asked: “Hey Larry wanna go halfers on it?” I politely said no.
Day 7
During a break from the hordes, Guinevere and I clean the espresso machine together. Guinevere opens up to me. She confesses that she is in between things, trying to decide which esthetic school to attend. I told her that she is thinking too small, “You are too good to be doing anyone’s nails. You should be served, not serving.” Guinevere gifts me with a shy smile.
A woman wearing a “I heart Country Music” t-shirt complained about our prices. I tell her that there’s a gas station just down the street that serves swill they call coffee and add: “you better hurry, they’re giving away a Garth Brooks cd with every fill-up.” She demands to speak to my boss.
Spend two hours constructing perfect pyramid of muffins.
Around closing time Boss takes me aside to chide me for earlier remarks. I refuse to defend myself. Boss also mentions that Guinevere has a boyfriend.
I eat entire perfect pyramid of muffins.
Day 11
Drank bottle of wine and entered world of creative bliss. Word after word found their way onto the page of their own accord.
I drag myself into work. Boss tells me that I look like hell. God how I yearn to whip her with my wit! But I remember that rent is due in two days.
Mess up six drinks in a row. Guinevere offers to trade places with me. I tell her, “Sweet Guinevere, you are an angel in disguise” and kiss her hand with a flourish.
Day 12
Read yesterday’s pages. Cannot understand any of it.
Day 14
While I am outside disposing of the day’s detritus, boss approaches me. She tells me that Guinevere – my queen, my heart, my light through the darkness – no longer wants to work the same shift as me.
I am afraid my expression mirrors that of a Midwest yokel encountering Times Square for the first time, with jaw wide open and eyes bursting with astonishment. I ask her, “I demand you tell me who has told you this lie!”
Boss replies, “Jenny thinks you’re creepy.”
I am speechless.
Boss asks me if I have plans for Saturday: “I have tickets to a Rascal Flats concert…” I murmur about a prior engagement.
Day 15
I work my first shift with Brad. Brad highlights his hair. Brad calls his girlfriend every two minutes. When Brad is not talking to his girlfriend, Brad is talking about techno music.
After an hour, I take off my apron, fold it neatly and leave it on my boss’s desk.
I stuff a box of day old brownies in my bag.
Day 20
A week of applying for jobs has passed. Finally, the phone finally rings. It isn’t what I hoped for. In fact it’s worse than I could have imagined. Capitalism invites me into her smelly, steaming core: Walmart.
Oh Guinevere, you have sentenced me to Dante’s inferno!
