Starbucks at 3:30PM and Other Things to 'Pour Over'

At 3:30 p.m. I ordered a Starbucks coffee. Not a fancy mocha-latte or an iced coffee, but a traditional, run-of-the-mill hot coffee.
The employee who took my order stammered.
"Ah, OK, well, let me check because we stopped serving our blonde roast at, uh, around noon so it means in order to do that, I would have to do a 'pour over.'"
"A pour over?" I asked.
"Yes, because we no longer have it brewing this late in the afternoon, I have to do what's called a 'pour over.'"
I had no idea what he meant, but I pictured him going through the trash in the back to retrieve a filter full of used coffee grounds from the morning and pouring hot water over it. I did want coffee, but not that bad. Or maybe it meant that he was going to have to use some special pouring device to hand make my coffee? Either way, I wasn't sure so I asked.
"What do you mean by a 'pour over'?"
"It means I have to grind the beans and then pour hot water over them. I have to make it especially for you because there's none brewing. Hold on, let me ask if I can do that."
He turned to a co-worker behind him who was busy pouring milk into a cup.
"Hey Melissa, can we make a blonde roast right now?"
"Sure," she said, "but you'll have to do a pour over."
"Yeah, I told her that." He turned back to me and said he could do it. He sounded disappointed.
"Thank you." I said.
But that's not what I wanted to say. The sarcastic wheelhouse inside my head was spinning as I stepped away from the counter and headed toward the pick-up area.
You mean a 'pour over' is when you grind coffee beans and then pour hot water over them? Isn't that called 'making coffee'?! Wait a minute! Aren't I in a coffee house? Or did I make a wrong turn and end up ordering coffee at the service desk at Lowe's next door? Nope. Here I was in a brand new Starbucks ordering a short blonde roast at 3:30 p.m. and because it wasn't 7 a.m. or 9 a.m. or even 11:59 a.m., they were going to have to make it special just for me. 

Yup, it's true.
They would have to make coffee in a coffee house.

While I 'poured over' this absurdity waiting for my special order joe, I looked around at all the folks hanging out inside the store. A few were sitting at round wooden tables talking, but most were sitting alone--their ears plugged with headphones-- typing or scrolling on their devices or laptops. Everyone seemed to have a plastic cup full of melting ice or dissolving foam. Some people were only a few inches apart on stools, yet entirely in their own world. I thought about all the opportunities they were missing to talk, to get to know each other, to find out what they had in common. I sighed. Nothing wrong with doing your homework, answering a few emails, or typing up that report for work, but when did we start going to public places to do stuff privately?
Probably about the same time fancy machines started making coffee.
Is that why it's a big deal when someone orders coffee after lunch? We can't just grab it from the machine behind us. We have to grind and pour. By hand. Make it special. It takes time. A personal touch. Patience.
So this makes me wonder...At some point will it become a big deal, maybe even a hassle, to talk to people instead of texting them? Will we get so used to machine-conducted communication that when we actually have to talk face to face we will feel inconvenienced? Will it feel old-fashioned, unfamiliar and slightly annoying? Will talking become a 'pour over'?  We can do it, but we'd rather not?
I see it happening already. Meeting in  person is so "yesterday" when you can just Skype, email, text or Facetime. And by "yesterday" I mean 1990's. It really hasn't been that long since technology started changing how we communicate, including what we do when we're waiting. Speaking of waiting, my coffee was taking quite awhile. I was starting to wonder if they had to go out back and pick the beans. Now THAT would be asking a lot. I could hear my cell phone calling to me while I waited. "Check your email!" it said. "See how many likes your post got!" it beckoned. I resisted the urge to disappear into my own world. I'm going to do things the old fashioned way I thought. I'm going to TALK to someone in a coffee house. Engage. Be friendly.
I looked around. There were a few people waiting for their coffee just a few feet away from me. I could strike up a conversation. Share my 'pour over' experience. Mingle.
But I need my coffee first. Especially after noon.

-Hope A. Horner, 2017
Contact author on gmail at hopeh1122 for reprinting, publishing or to comment.
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#starbucks #putdownyourphoneandtalk

Hermana (Sister)

They are sister and brother.
They are sister and brother.
Ellos son hermana y hermano.
She is my mother.
She is my mother.

Ella es mi madre.

She was writing and didn't see me when I walked in the store. The man's voice coming from the small boom box behind her was pleasant and sounded young. He had only a slight accent.

She is my sister.
She is my sister.
Ella es mi hermana.

After each sentence she wrote in a spiral notebook that was open on the counter near the register. I stood there until she lifted her head.
Te puedo ayudar? (May I help you?) She had almond skin, short curly hair and a friendly face.
Si, por favor. Tiene usted cosas para la cocina? (Yes, please. Do you have kitchen items?) I replied. I needed a few things for an upcoming dinner party.

She smiled and nodded for me to come toward her.  I noticed she had a variety of Mexican candies on the counter, including de la Rosa which is my favorite. They're a bit like peanut butter dust so you have to eat them carefully, but they are melt-in-your-mouth delicious. The man's voice behind her continued on.

He is my brother.
He is my brother.
El es mi hermano.

"I'm learning." She said and tilted her head toward the sound. Her accent was thick.
"That's great! Que bueno." I said. I wasn't sure whether to respond in English or Spanish so I used both.
She hesitated, then pushed her notepad toward me and pointed at what she had written with her pen.
"Is right?"
She had written a few sentences in the notepad. Her letters were large and curly. I noticed she had spelled the word "the" "tha."  I told her to change the "a" to an "e."
"Ay!" she exclaimed and crossed out the "a" and made it into an "e."
She was confusing the English "e" sound with "a." "There" was spelled "thar." "Where" was spelled "Whar."
I pointed these out and she corrected them.
"English es muy dificil." she said.
"Si, muy dificil." I responded. She shook her head. She told me in Spanish about her troubles with English vowels and flipped back a few pages in her notebook to show me where she had crossed out her mistakes and made corrections. I told her English was confusing compared to Spanish. In Spanish, you always know how the vowels are going to sound because they don't change. Not in English. The vowel "e" can be pronounced many different ways.

She said she was taking English classes at the library and used these cassette tapes, which she also found at the library, to practice. She grabbed one and handed it to me. I looked at the label. They were from 1995 and called "English on TV." I hadn't seen a cassette tape in awhile so it made me smile. I remembered all my cassettes from back in the 1980's and how they would inevitably get 'eaten' by my tape players. She said she listened to the tapes here at work because she didn't have any other time to teach herself English. She said she was struggling to learn, but the classes and tapes were helping.

The man's voice behind her moved on to new sentences and she wrote carefully in her notebook, occasionally pointing and asking me if her words were correct. Before too long, she was telling me her story-how she was brought to California from Mexico by her parents when she was 12 years old. She said her family settled in Bakersfield and when her parents sent her to middle school there she was so afraid she cried nearly every day for a year. She eventually dropped out. She moved here, closer to the coast, and opened this small business with her husband. The store sold party goods, snacks and dollar store items. In the window was a piñata of Chilindrina, a character from a famous Mexican TV show. Candles, cheap plastic toys and multi-colored paper plates sat on shelves. She told me that most of her family was still in Bakersfield and she felt it was a real shame that many of them, now in their 50's and 60's like her, no longer spoke Spanish, only English.

"You need to speak English," She said, "that why I learn, but two languages is better, no?"  I agreed.
I had just gotten back from Europe where nearly everyone spoke at least two languages. My Italian tour guide spoke four, and was learning a fifth.
"Como se llama?" I asked her.
"Anita." She said.
"Mucho gusto Anita."
"Mucho gusto.Y como se llama usted?"
"Hope..." I paused and then added "Esperanza."
"Esperanza? Hope es Esperanza en español?"
"Si." I said.
"Oh, si Esperanza! Mucho gusto!"

I smiled and walked farther into the store. She had forgotten I had asked about kitchen items, but I didn't mind. The store only had four aisles so I found my way to the right section easily. As I walked, I translated the man's English sentences into Spanish, waiting to hear the final sentence to see if I had gotten it right. I grabbed a small metal cheese grater and a orange juicer and when I returned to the register, I added a "de la Rosa" candy.
"Gracias Anita." I said as she handed me my change and receipt.
Gracias Esperanza!" She smiled.
You are my sister.
You are my sister.
Tu eres mi hermana.

-Hope A. Horner, 2017
Contact Hope on gmail at hopeh1122
Follow on Twitter at http://twitter.com/hopenote