The Espressologist

9

It's really here. Espressology night. I've been standing outside in the cold staring at the huge chalkboard announcing tonight's activities for a good five minutes. I have to admit, Brenda did a fantastic job. The board looks amazing. All red and white and silvery dust swirling around the edges. I'm clutching my Espressology notebook and my laptop to my chest. Derek pops his head out the door.

"Coming in or what?"

"Mmm-hmm," I mumble, not moving an inch. Derek steps outside, grabs both of my shoulders from behind, and gently pushes me toward the door. I guess in all the excitement he forgot about his no-touching rule.

"Come on," he says. "It's freezing out here."

I let him guide me into the store and to the back. The warm air makes my cheeks burn a little bit.

"You look scared to death," he observes once we are in his office and he's closed the door. I take a seat in the chair opposite his.

"Pretty much," I admit. And I'm not kidding–I've had a sick stomach all afternoon.

"Well, take your coat and gloves off and relax a minute. Gather your thoughts. It's going to be fun," Derek assures me.

It is really strange having Derek be nice to me.

Completely out of the ordinary for him. He must really need me to do this.

"I have a table set up in front of the registers with a red velvet tablecloth over it and a rose in a vase. When you are ready, go have a seat and do your thing."

"You went all out," I say.

"This is going to be big, I think. People have been talking about it all day."

"Really?" Now I feel even more bolted to the chair I'm sitting on.

"Yeah, sales are already up today just from people stopping in to ask what an Espressologist is."

"Wow," I mutter.

"Here, I got you this to wear." Derek hands me a cute red apron with the Wired Joe's logo embroidered on it in shiny silver. The name tag hanging off it says ESPRESSOLOGIST at the top, and then my name directly underneath. It has a tiny cupid in the corner.

"Holy crap," I say, "you are serious about this."

"Dead. Now get yourself together, come on out, and let's make a lot of money."

I nod and Derek heads out front. I slip the red apron over my black turtleneck and black skirt and I have to admit, it looks pretty cute. I stand up, do a quick hair check, and head to my post.

I trek up front feeling like a freshman communications student getting ready to give a speech for the first time to the entire school, but there really aren't that many people out there. Yeah, it is a little busier than usual, but there are only about five people in line. They all look at me eagerly, though, so I know they are waiting for me. Sarah and Frankie, one of our newer baristas, are making drinks at the bar, and Daisy is working at the register.

"Here she is, everyone," Derek booms to the entire store. "Our local Espressologist, Jane. Give your coffee drink order to one of our baristas at the register and then step over to Jane and tell her your favorite drink. Jane will take down your information and find your perfect love match for the holidays. She has never been wrong. Just step right up and give it a try."

Geez, where is your top hat, Derek? He sounds like he is introducing a circus act. Okay, deep breath, deep breath. I can do this.

I smile and give a little wave to the people in line.

"Hey, everyone. Just gimme a minute to get organized." I put my notebook down on the tablecloth and place my laptop right next to it. I flip it open and give the power button a slight push. I set it on standby before I left home, so it only takes a moment to turn on and for my spreadsheet to appear. The spreadsheet was Em's idea. She thought it would help if I had all the information I needed already in a table so I wouldn't blank and forget what to ask. She actually made the spreadsheet for me last night when she came over. She said she was there to help me relax about the whole Espressology thing today, but I know she just wanted to talk about Cam. She thinks she's all in love with him now. How can she be in love with him already? Puh-lease. They've only been on two dates, but she says she can just tell he is so perfect for her. I thought he was perfect for her, too, but strictly in the just-for-fun, not-falling-in-love kind of way. I mean, my god, she just broke up with her long-term boyfriend. She can't move on this fast, can she?

I've got to stop thinking about Em and Cam and concentrate on what is happening right here before Derek kills me. He's standing about three feet away just staring at me. Like I'm going to wave a wand and alakazam, couples will skip out the door arm in arm. There is a little more to Espressology than that. I reread my table headings on my spreadsheet: name, sex, age, coffee, interesting tidbit, phone, e-mail, match.

"Ready," I say, mustering a cheery voice. "Who's first?"

"I am." A nervous, slightly overweight woman in a bright red fleece jacket steps toward me. She has on matching bright red lipstick, long fake red nails, and heavy eye makeup. Definitely a real estate agent. I can almost smell the pack of cigarettes undoubtedly in her giant purse and sense her newer model Caddy parked in the garage around the corner. "Who am I supposed to talk to?" she asks.

I smile. "Well, just tell your order to the barista behind the register so she can start your drink. You'll pay her and then come over and chat with me while one of the other baristas makes it."

"Okay." She looks from Daisy to me and back to Daisy. She clears her voice and says loudly, "I want a caramel-flavored mack-a-cheeto in the big cup. And with skim milk, please." She gives us both a pleased look, obviously proud she could remember her order.

"Large nonfat caramel macchiato," Daisy says loudly, and marks the cup. She hands it to Sarah, who starts the drink.

"What? What did you say?" the woman says, looking slightly panicked. Obviously she doesn't come into Wired Joe's too often.

"Don't worry, she's just giving your order to the other barista," I assure her. "Now we chat."

The woman lets out a slight giggle of relief as she pays Daisy and steps in front of me. "Oh, okay," she says.

"Usually, I just get my caramel mack-a-cheetos at the drive-through Wired Joe's near my house. They never yell the order at me." She glares at Daisy just for a moment.

I nod.

"Let me just get down some information, then.

Name?"

"Debbie. Debbie Archer."

"Hi, Debbie. Age? And you can just give me a ballpark here if you don't want to tell me."

"Late thirties," she says. Riiiiiight.

"All right." I enter what she told me. "Now just tell me some interesting tidbit about you so I can get a better feel for who you are."

The "interesting tidbit" category was also Em's idea.

She thought if the customers told me a little funny something about themselves, it would help me remember them later on when I'm doing matches.

"Well, I'm searching hard for my soul mate. I've done it all, personal ads, online dating, you name it. But I still haven't found him. Sometimes I think I'll never find my soul mate."

I can't help but feel touched at this woman's honesty.

I type, "Searching for soul mate" into my spreadsheet.

"Now just give me your phone number and e-mail address and if I find your match tonight or in the near future I'll have him get in touch with you."

She gives me her contact info, thanks me, and heads out into the night, caramel macchiato in hand.

"Next," I say. Three young teenage girls are huddled close together and whispering. The shortest girl gives their order quietly to Daisy and slides her some money and then they all eye me up and down. Do I even need to ask?

Obviously it is going to be frappycaps all around.

The tallest girl steps out to the front and holds her hand out like she's carrying a serving tray. She has her blond hair pulled into a loose ponytail and she's wearing three different-colored tight shirts in layers, skinny jeans tucked into purple slouch boots, and a long dark purple coat.

"Well, I'm Sadie and my favorite drink is a small vanilla-bean frappycap. This here is Jenna," she says, pointing to a shorter girl with dark hair, camouflage pants, a camouflage army hat, and a zipped black puffy jacket.

"And this"–she indicates the last girl who has short brown hair, a Mexico team soccer jacket, a red T-shirt, and jeans–

"is Izzie. They both like small strawberries-and-crème frappycaps."

I inwardly smile and type. They kind of remind me of Em, Katie, Ava, and me freshman year.

"Okay, guys, ages?"

"We're fourteen," Jenna answers shyly.

"And our interesting tidbit," Izzie pipes in, "is that we are all Guild Masters in World of Warcraft"

"Impressive," I say, although I'm not really sure what they are talking about. Obviously some kind of video game. I enter their information. This is actually kind of fun.

The girls take their drinks to a table near the door to hang out.

After I finish typing, I look up and see the sweetest-looking older gentleman. He's got to be in his late sixties.

He's bald and wearing a dark brown corduroy golf hat, a thick brown peacoat, and a red-and-black plaid scarf. He totally looks like the university professor type.

"I'd like a short cappuccino," he says in a deep, booming voice to Daisy, and then faces me. I've already started typing his drink choice into my spreadsheet.

He is smart. I knew it. And money-conscious. Not many people order the short cappuccino, since it isn't actually on the menu. It's eight ounces and cheaper than the twelve-ounce small, which is the smallest size that we advertise, but it has the same amount of espresso in it. He's getting more bang for his buck.

Gregory–that's the name he gives me–steps over to my table and provides the required info, but I'm hardly listening. I already know the PERFECT match for him.

These two completely adorable sisters, Belinda and Anna, also in their sixties, come into our store every Sunday morning before they head off for their weekly grocery shopping trip. I nicknamed them "the bargain babes" because they order the same thing every week: a doppio on ice, which is basically two shots of espresso over ice.

Then they take their cups over to the milk station, where they fill them up the rest of the way with the free milk we have out. Voila, iced lattes for almost two dollars less than the menu price. I happen to know that Belinda is a retired librarian and a widow. I type "Belinda?" in the match box in Gregory's row and make a mental note to talk to her on

Sunday. I'm so excited–I can do this! I can match perfect strangers.

I'm super happy with myself and looking forward to my next customer. Just then three young boys with long dark shaggy hair and glasses, wearing long-sleeve tees and droopy pants, come in through the door. Something about them just screams future software developers to me. I'm struck with inspiration and whip around in my chair to see if the teenage girls are still there. They are. Could this be my first on-the-spot match? Okay, calm down. Let's see what they order first.

One of the boys steps up to the counter and gives Daisy his order. He turns to me and says, "Hey. I'm Ed. This is James and this is Dan. We ordered three small hot chocolates. That's our favorite drink."

BINGO. I don't even have to check my notebook to know they are a match with the girls.

I take down their information, for record's sake, and wait for them to get their hot chocolates. I open a new document and peck furiously at random keys, just to look busy for a few minutes. Even though I already know their perfect matches, I don't want them to know it was so easy.

There. Enough time has passed. I get up and Derek comes whipping around from behind the coffee bean display where he's been hovering and says, "Hey, where are you going?"

I wink. "Gimme a minute." I walk over to the boys' table, take Ed and James by the arm, and indicate with a nod for Dan to follow us. I lead them to the table near the door where the girls are sitting. "Sadie, Jenna, and Izzie," I say, "meet Ed, James, and Dan." All six of the teenagers act awkward for a moment, but then James sees Jenna's PSP sitting out on the table and slides into a chair next to her and asks her what game she's playing.

My work here is done.

I hurry back toward my table and pause by Derek with my hand in the air waiting for a high five. He glares at me like I was just picking my nose and shoves both of his hands into his pockets.

"What was that about?" he asks.

"I made my first match. Well, actually my first three matches," I say with an enormous smile on my face. Yes!