Operation Barista: Day 1

I had been really good at lunch. Instead of the soup in a giant bread bowl that I love, I opted for a cup of soup and Greek salad. I resisted the cream cheese and blueberry croissant, the marshmallow brownie, the cherry cheesecake. But an hour after I returned from lunch a chocolate craving overwhelmed me. This was a new feeling for me. I'm not the chocolate girl usually. But today I couldn't help but scarf the mini-Butterfinger in my desk and then steal a bite-sized Milky Way from my co-worker.

Not enough. I could not get chocolate out of my brain. More specifically, I could not stop thinking about the chocolate-caramel-covered pretzels at the coffee shop across the street. Could. Not. Stop.

Fuck it. Grabbed my purse, nearly sprinted to the coffee shop for my fix.

When I arrived I realized it wasn’t coffee or the pretzels that the fates had sent me for. No. It was The Barista. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he prepared the iced latte for the bearded dude in front of me. Unlike most of the people around here, he did not seem to be a caricature, rather, he seemed like an actual, cool person -- The Barista, not the bearded dude.

Then it was my turn. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until time was up. Witty banter, flirtatious grins, boob flash?

It was over too soon. The decaf skinny mocha did not take nearly long enough to prepare. We had so much more to discuss, so many more jokes to crack. So many more times for me to undress him with my eyes.

I had used my “Perks Card” to pay, and after our shared moment, I felt like I needed to tip. I paused as I was about to walk away, while he helped the next customer. Crap. Only a $20 bill! Couldn’t do it. For that much money, I'm pretty sure it would be like prostitution after all the things he did to me in my mind. I looked up sheepishly. He was watching me, but I don’t think it was for the tip. He knew what was I was thinking -- at least that's what I choose to believe.

So I flashed the smile (not the tatas) again, “I’ll see you later.” “See ya,” he smiled back.

Now, I have to go back to the coffee shop every. Single. Day. Hot Barista, you will be mine.