inside the coffee stand...

It's around 3pm on a Sunday afternoon. The usual morning runners have long since come through the line and have exited the coffee shop with gusto, a rush of color and too-tight shorts. Around here, this is the time when church-goers frequent the shop.

What is sad to me is the impatience and ineptitude with which church-goers seem to address those who would serve them with gladness. How quickly they judge those who must work of a Sunday, those who would have loved to attend service if given the opportunity to do so that morning.

Not only that, but I am astonished by the way in which such persons conduct themselves. Demanding and arrogant, they put the name of Christ to shame. Two Sundays ago, I met such a person, and it has left such an impression on me.


Setting
A coffee house somewhere in SoCal. Some time after 3pm.

Characters
ME -- Lone barista working the floor at said coffee house. Representing the black and green.
CUSTOMER -- A middle-aged woman of some class and great dignity who has recently left church and is on her way home for the evening.
CUSTOMER'S HUSBAND -- A middle-aged man, soft of voice and large of heart.

The Scene
ME -- "Hello, how is your evening going?"

CUSTOMER -- "Give me a Venti latte."

Okay, never mind...
We'll skip the pleasantries.
I get it: you need your caffeine.

"Sure! Would you like anything to eat with that? Or any other drin---"

"I'm not finished."

Wow.
I look at her expectantly, still smiling.
She's not going to get to me.

"No foam..."

She looks at me glaringly while fluffing her fur-lined jacket.
There is a chill in the air tonight, but it's not from indoor air-conditioning.

"NO .... FOAM ...."

She pauses dramatically between "no" and "foam."
I suppose she is convinced I am daydreaming.

"Hello? Are you getting this? Write it down, now!"

At this time, the customer holds up her hand to show me what I should be doing.
Pen in hand, she grabs an imaginary cup and pretends to write on it.
Her husband walks through the door and stands by her side.
Immediately aware of the situation, he begins to make apologetic / sympathetic facial expressions.
I chuckle inwardly.

"I can remember, it's okay,"
I try to reassure her.
My shift lead is in the back room, making notes on the order.

"Well, no one else seems to be able to."

Whatever, lady -- now you just sound like a fool.
I stop myself from saying anything I might regret.

Sugar-sweet (Romans 12:20-21 kept ringing in my ear), I tell her,
"Oh, it's no problem. So far, you would like a Venti no-foam latte. Anythi--"

She nods but cuts me off, neck tinged pink with slight embarrassment.

"ONLY two pumps of Chai."

"Venti 2-pump Chai, no-foam, latte..."

I'm still not writing her drink down.

"Half soy, half two-percent. And make sure it's two-percent milk. I hate nonfat. And whole milk is too rich. I can tell the difference."

Right.
Not like I didn't realize this, lady, but you're definitely high-maintenance.
Off to the side, her husband grimaces uncomfortably.
I feel his pain and smile reassuringly in his direction.

"We can definitely do that... Venti 2-pump Chai, half-soy / half two-percent, no-foam latte."

I write it on her cup.

"Oh. Make sure it's extra-hot."

"Would you like it around 170 / 180?"

"No. 200."

Check.

"Here."

She jams her Gold Card up under my nose as I'm heading over to pass off her drink to my shift lead, thankful someone else will have the pleasure of making it and not I.
Whew.

"Thank you. Would you like anything else?"

"No, just take the card. I've wasted enough time--"

Her husband, in a gentle calm voice interjects,
"If I may, I would like to have a tall cup of decaf coffee."

I smile warmly.
It is after noon, but I don't mind pulling together a pour-over for him.

"Of course. Would you like me to leave you room for cream?"

My shift lead cheerily calls out the customer's drink.

"Thank you, no."

She stomps over to the hand-off counter, skeptical of how her drink has been assembled.
He graciously drops three dollars in the tip jar -- twice the amount that his own drink costs -- walks humbly away from the register, calls for his wife, and departs into the afternoon sunshine outdoors.


What a difference. I hope, in the future, that I will have the same approach and remain gentle, calm, and understanding even if in a hurry. There is no place so important to be that one cannot practice patience and compassion. This world is a place of instant gratification. As followers of Christ, however, we are called to something higher by Someone higher. May we follow in His steps always.