That Lonely Black Boi

[13] The New Coffee Boi in Town

|Imran Adebayo Ibrahim|

Today was the day. The day I was determined to conquer the art of brewing the perfect cup of coffee and become a barista against my own will.

I found myself facing the formidable espresso machine. With eager anticipation, I began grinding the beans just as I had been trained to, the sound filling the air with promise. But as I tried to figure out how to use the machine, it felt like learning to do the Texas Line Dance with all its buttons and dials, it seemed as though each shot of espresso I pulled was a disaster.

The bitter taste of failure lingered with each sip, and frustration threatened to overwhelm me. Yet, with each mistake, I learned nothing new. I kept making the same mistake, over and over again. Nothing was as worst as the grunting sound I kept getting from my superior - who also seemed to be the manager. He expected me to master the four art of blending a perfect cuppa' coffee like a freaking Avatar. Even Aang wasn't the perfect Avatar, his bending skill was as bad as my blending skill - we both sucked, but at least I didn't disappear when I was needed the most.

"Damn it, Cabron! What the hell do you think you're doing?" he exclaimed, yanking the recyclable cup from my hand and crushing it in frustration before hurling it into the trash. "That's where you and your crappy coffee belong, in the damn trash."

Being forced to work as a coffee runner was irritating enough, but having to endure complaints about my blending skills from someone my own age was infuriating. As if he hadn't done worse when he first started. "Seriously, you-" I began, but he cut me off with a raised finger.

"Your first customers are here," he announced, nodding toward the entrance, his smirk was palpable.

Frowning, I turned to the customers with an absolute fake smile, I was ready to be possessed by the heavenly spirit of an Extrovert. Unfortunately for me, they were three kids, and not just any kids, they were Midtown High's kids. Two of them were baseball jocks, while the third was a spiteful cheerleader, judging by her make-up. She definitely has won prom queen on many occasions.

"Yo man!" One of the jocks began.

I sighed, "welcome to Starbucks," I said, adjusting the Starbucks hat on my head. I've never felt so fake in my life.

"What's up, bro? Just give me three Blonde Roasts with oat milk, not milk-milk," the jock ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

In all my life, I'd heard Jocks are dumb and the one right in front of me affirmed it. His confidence after he said that made me break a smile, regaining my unusual robotic smile shortly.

"Sure thing," I replied, forcing a frown as I prepared to fulfil his request, silently rolling my eyes at his stupid confidence and ego, like he didn't just call cow diary; milk-milk.

Fortunately, Blonde Roast was the easiest one, it would be easy to brew. I proceeded to the coffee machine, as the three of them continued conversing about ball, insta and girls, right? As his order was for the easiest and cheapest coffee, I prepared a basic brewed coffee. I measured out the appropriate amount of coffee grounds, placed them in the filter, and carefully poured hot water over them.

With each step, I ensured that I followed the standard procedure taught to me by Mr. Starbucks; who kept staring at me from a corner, I was aiming for consistency in flavor and quality. Despite feeling out of place in my Starbucks uniform, I concentrated on executing each step with precision, hoping to deliver a satisfactory cup of coffee to the jocks and their cheerleader. But then I noticed something that made me nervous - the three customers had pulled out their phones and started watching a video on Instagram.