Just livin' the Dutch life.

If you don't already know, I work at Dutch Bros. coffee shop.  Yes, that does mean that I am cooler than you, but I  am willing to overlook my superior coolness and remain friends with you.  Except maybe you (you know who I mean).  But during the course of my day, I come in contact with some very interesting people.  These "Dutchies,: as I will from now on call them, range all over the coffee drinker spectrum.  From the extreme ignorant coffee snob that is ignorant to their own ignorance, to the also ignorant homeless person that just wants a cup-o-joe, and everything in between.  Recently, two Dutchies have become blog worthy and now is the time to tell their tale.

The first Dutchie of whom I shall share, is from the snobby/ignorant elite class.  She is a woman of about fifty-five years old, possibly older, but only slightly.  She comes through regularly, making her a regular, and always has something regarding her drink to complain about. Except one time that I was able, with the help of the coffee gods above, to make her drink exactly to her liking.  But that was an exception to the rule.  A simple example of her pickiness is this; she is left handed and brings in her own coffee mug to drink from.  If you hand her her mug with the lid facing the wrong direction, so that (Heaven forbid) she would have to drink holding the mug with her right hand, she will hand it back to you and have you turn the lid around.  You will also get the drink handed back to you if it is the wrong temperature, or if it has too much foam, the list goes on and on and on.  Anyway, she is from Boise and is VERY proud of this simple fact.  But somehow she got the idea in her head that Boise is some kind of coffee haven and that the best coffee and coffee culture comes from there.  All this being said, one day my favorite (please note that "favorite" is oozing with sarcasm) Dutchie came through and ordered a, "Mocha at one fifty (degrees) flat."  Now, me being not from Boise and very naive, did not know what "Flat" meant.  I'm sure at least half of you reading this now know what "Flat" means and think I'm a silly fool for not knowing.  But please remember, I am from Menifee.  That is in the southern part of Calif-ore-nie-ay.  Very, very far from Boise, or Idaho for that matter.  I said to the Dutchie supreme, "Flat? What does flat mean?"  To which she responded, a tinge of pride shining in her eyes,

"It means no foam or whip.  You've never been to Boise, have you?"

Right about now was the time I wanted to punch her in the teeth.  So I made her a mocha, but  it was not hot enough, ("only luke") so I heated it up and handed it to her.  Just between you and me, it was not flat.  I loaded that fucking mocha with bubbly foam.

And now for my favorite part.  My Dutchie delight came through again, maybe even the next day, and ordered an iced double mocha.  Please note that iced is in italics.  If you didn't catch the italics before, here they come again:  iced.  I just really want to stress that she said, "Iced."  Get it?  If you do not know, iced means that the drink is served on the rocks, like an iced tea.  I made her the iced mocha and gave it to her.  She took a drink and frowned.  "When the girls in the morning make this for me it's more icy.  This is like pudding."  Stated the Dutchie of Doom.  

I replied, "Oh did you want your drink blended?"  Again for those that don't know, blended means like a milk shake, or dare I say? a frapuccino.  (I'm really surprised to see that my spell check doesn't know frapuccino).  

"Oh yes, blended ice."  was her response.

So I made her a blended mocha and gave it to her.  All the while desperately wanting, longing to say to her,

"You've never been to Boise, have you?"

Moving on to Dutchie number two.  This one happened just today, quite early in my shift, and I am extremely thankful that it wasn't a sign of more things to come.  

So there was this man, obviously homeless, sitting on the block wall outside of my work today.  He sits there quite often, usually for hours, and mostly keeps to himself.  He was sitting there, and work was slow, so I was sitting there too.  For a while we were doing the same thing, just sitting.  I noticed him there and thought maybe he wants a cookie.  We had a few of those delicious cookies that every grocery store has, the ones with the thick seasonally colored frosting, you know the ones.  The powers of charity overwhelmingly (sarcasm, again), or maybe just boredom (more likely of the two), led me to grab (a generous) two cookies and offer them to my fellow sitting Dutchie.  I said,  "Excuse me mister, do you want some cookies?"  He mumbled something about being hurt and stayed seated.  A car pulled up that I had to attend to just as he was saying something that I couldn't understand.  I helped the car and they left, and he came stumbling up to the window.  I went to hand him the cookies and noticed how very filthy my Dutchie was.  I tried my hardest to hand him the cookies in a way that I wouldn't touch him.  Near success, my finger tips grazed his hands.  Another car pulled up, I helped them blah blah blah.  Dirty Dutchie was still there, looking at me.  He asked if we had a bathroom he could use.  I told him, "No I'm sorry it's for employees only."  He said, something to the extent of, and I kid you not, "That's too bad, I need to clean myself up, had an accident."

Happy Noah?