And aren't they all trendy
Didja ever notice that everyone who works at a coffee house of any kind is very unique? I think it must be in the job description. Mostly college aged, or still in college, piercings that would make my mother turn away from embarassment, but sneak a peek again later, hair in dreds or super short or bald or held back with a hemp hairband, shoes probably only worn because they have to, smoking in the shop if they can get away with it, and usually having an extra friend or two that aren't working, but just there to hang out.
The one coffee shop person who did not fit the stereotype was still unique: late forties, maybe early fifties, fairly plain to look at, with one destinct feature, her lipstick; not just red, stand-out red, are-you-a-hooker red, doesn't-match-anything red, not just that red, but also drawn into her own idea of lips, not her actual lips, but a little heart, a perpetual purse, the bubbly tops coming almost up to the bottom of her nostrils, making you wonder when the last time she picked up a fashion magazine.
But she, like all the others, had the other quality that ties all coffee house workers together: they are always very decient people. Sure, they might be distracted sometimes, but they are the last hold outs to the 'pleasing the customer' way of working. I think it's the common thread they must have with the customer: the love of the beans, the really good beans.

I like coffee. Really good coffee. Coffee that would make me broke if I bought it every day. So I treat myself once a week, once every-other week or so on my way to work.

This morning I am thinking about the creamy goodness that I always get, jonesing. It's a perfect pre-fall day, the kids were fairly calm this morning and we weren't late. But I have no cash, no way am I writing a check for coffee, and I really should do something more productive with that almost-five-dollars, rather than 'waste' it on treating myself (read: a few days before payday!)

Then I remember: the last time I stopped, got my coffee and my card punched, the trendy chick said "the next one's on us" when handing back my change-turned-tip and card.
Cool. I can stop and get my coffee free today.

I pull up and say "I would like a free cinnamon mocha grande, please" and hand her my fully-punched card. What could be sweeter?

Bonus when I get to work: it's bisquits and gravy day for breakfast. My trick is to skip the gravy and put peanut butter and blackberry jam on instead.
Life is good.

Just Writing