To Be A Barista

#1: Don't Apply

Now, the solutions to most of life's problems are rather simple. Sometimes you have to think outside the box to discover them, but they're always within reach if you ever need them. Like a good cup of coffee, or a can of pepper spray.

Actually? Here. If you came for answers to all of life's problems let me give them to you now: a good cup of coffee, or a can of pepper spray. These two necessities usually fix about eighty-seven percent of my dilemmas.

The other thirteen percent have been caused by the very same objects (Go figure), and a place I never want to lay eyes on after this summer. If I can help it.

Broke college students be broke, though.

My name is Oliver O'Malley (better known as "Oblivion" O'Malley) and I spend my scorching summer vacations in black aprons and visors at a small coffee joint called "Espresso Yourself."

Before you say anything let me stop you there: I know. Most of the customers we get don't even order coffee. They just walk in - triggering that godforsaken bell - and ask the nearest employee one of two things: 1.) "Do you know your store is literally a joke?" Or, 2.) "Do you have a couple hours?"

Like, lady, if I look like your therapist, you either need glasses, or medication, because no matter how hard you squint, that is not a medical degree on the wall, it's a menu.

I serve coffee, okay? Yes, we are all aware of what business we work for, it's plagued most of us for over a year. Shit like the name of the business will haunt us in our nightmares for all of eternity, along with every popular drink order and the names of each drink we have ever served; you're only making it worse. And the next time I get a chance, I'll let the manager know you want a therapy couch. When we get those in, then you can "Espresso Yourself" to your heart's content, but right now, I have MoCaps to prepare. I don't have time to listen to you whine about how many double taps you did or did not get on your most recent Instagram post. Sorry to break it to you, but nobody cares.

We employees are contractually obligated to be nice to you. If you need to talk things out, get a therapist. Or friends. Or a dog, if you're not a people person (I'm not, in case you couldn't tell...).

I guess what I'm trying to say here is this: if I could go back in time and change anything, I'd think twice about applying for this job. Both literally and figuratively. It's just not worth minimum wage.

If you already work a retail job, I pity you. We both know we're never getting out of here. If by some miracle we do, we know it'll still haunt us until the end of time; there is no escape.

My advice to those reading this: if you need a job, baby sit, or mow lawns, or do something that doesn't involve other human beings because trust me, you will regret it. I don't care how totally awesome your coworkers are, or how relaxed your boss is, or how easy the actual job is. No. Your hours may agree with you, but your customers do not.

If you ever find yourself sat at your kitchen table with an application in hand, make sure you know what you're getting yourself into, then crumple that puppy up and chuck it into the garbage can. Paper shredders work just fine, too.

Number one rule of working in retail or food service: don't ever apply to work in retail or food service.

For those of us who failed to follow the number one rule, here's a nifty little survival guide that'll hopefully get you through the next month or so.

In the meantime stock up on coffee and pepper spray, and hope for the best. That's what I'll be doing.