Caffeine-dependent

Those needles have barbs that catch and tangle the fibers of the roving (the term for that loose wool) together. The more you stab it the more tightly-packed and the more firm the object becomes. It takes a lot of little stabs to smooth out the texture on the surface and is best done with a single fine gauge needle.

Fun fact: the longer you use a felting needle the sharper it becomes, as the wool polishes the point.

“Are you comfortable with me ranting about my day for a few minutes?”

“Oh, this is your poetry? Would it be okay if I read it?”

“Do you mind if I use your phone for a few minutes?”

“Wow, your meal looks awesome. Could I try some?”

It will save a lot of grief, especially in a developing relationship. Eventually, with consistent “yes’s” and “no’s” you can figure out more permanent boundaries and guidelines.

“How much is it to fill a Venti with Espresso?”

“I- I’m sorry?”

“A venti cup. How much to fill it with Espresso?”

“Oh. uh. Well, it’d be I suppose… I only have a button for a Quad. I don’t have special pricing for twenty ounces of espresso in a single… drink.”

“Price is the furthest thing from my mind right now. How many ‘add shots’ is that?”

*deep breath of fear* “It’d be a quad with,” *clears throat* “uh, sixteen additional shots of espresso. But, ma’am, I should tell you that the shots will start to get really bitter if they have to sit and wait for us to pull twenty of them-”

“Taste means nothing to me.”

At this point I am truly fearing for my very existence in the presence of what must clearly be an eldritch being.

“Oh. Well, okay.” I put on my absolute best customer service smile to hide my terror and accept that I must face this dragon, fae, or demon with dignity. “We can certainly get that for you! The price will be _____.”

She begins to pay, I shit thee not, with golden dollar coins. We are a block from Wall Street, and this eldritch demi-being is paying for an unholy elixer with golden coins. My life will end soon, I am sure of it.

“Do you still have the ‘Add Energy’ packets?”

My heart began to race at this request. “Yes ma’am.”

“How many can I add?”

Futile though it is, at least I know the rote response to this. “For health reasons, we won’t add more than one per drink and we cannot sell the packets individually.”

“One then.”

I alter the order and tell her the new price. She pays, dumps the change and five golden dollars into the tip box. I write the order on the venti cup and pass it silently to the girl working the hot beverage station. Normally we called and pass, but this was … not something to be spoken aloud.

My fellow takes the cup, not thinking anything of the minor break with protocol, until she sees the order. She stares at me. “No.”

The woman, which I call her for no other greater insight into her terrifying being is within my grasp, simply stands on the other side and says, calmly but with a commanding tone I expect of Admirals in bad movies, “Yes.”

My fellow barista pales before her task. But we are dutiful, we are true to our task, great though it may be. She sets about clearing the two brand new Matrena’s of all distraction, and sets two tall cups in the ready position. The energy packet is emptied into the venti cup, and the shots begin pouring. 

The barista was damn near shaking. This woman’s gaze felt like the fires of the sun. Finally, the shots are pulled, the cup is filled, and the hand off takes place.

Our visiting Incomprehensible takes it to our milk bar and adds a dollop of cream. Satisfied, she proceeds to down what must have been half the damn cup.

Then she smiled at us, like a benediction and I was honestly filled with joy. And horror. She left, and we knew nothing more of her after that.

When I talk with other former employees, we quickly begin talking about “The Company” as if we’d never l, perhaps knowing that part of our soul still powers that awesome and terrible corporate machine. And when I share this stroy, other Baristas at first act shocked but quickly settle and comes the chorus, 

Ive had my fair share of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink frappuccino orders. People would ask us to blend 2, even 3 bananas into their drink… someone asked me to blend a chocolate chunk cookie into theirs once? It wasn’t half bad.

But my favourite weird customer is The Garlic Man. The past couple of months this man has come into our store, absolutely REEKING of raw garlic. He has a salt and pepper beard and an Indiana Jones hat. Orders “An Apple Chai”. That’s not a drink, at least not in sbux Canada. He explains to me it’s a chai tea latte where you substitute the hot water for steamed apple juice.

We make it. He has a southern accent so I ask him if he’s visiting someone for the holidays. Under his breath and with his eyes darting both ways he says

“Yeah you could say Im gonna be here for a while…”

Sits down at the long table in the cafe, where people are working on their laptops. He discreetly proceeds to pull out, from his bag, a chopping board. And some garlic. And a knife. He dices up his own garlic in the cafe and then eats it. We look on in horror.