https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/18c53de76488389ca824f62e955d430e.pdf 1803316db1251a421c3924eb9d54dc4a PDF Text Text U\ain leashing t^a^iista Zoe von Gunten Non-Fiction The golden rays of sun pierced through the glass window, I rubbed my hands on my black apron as I stepped back admiring my own tea creation. Early mornings in the rose tinted coffee shop were not always pleasant. After all, waking up at 5 in the morning and arriving at 6 a.m. was not usually my idea of a “good” morning. 8 a.m. was the time when the summer sun would glow through the large windows and blind whoever was working the register. I stayed far away from it during this time unless absolutely necessary. The morning was slow, and I sipped on a warm darjeeling fog. The taste of earthy tea and creamy milk washed over my morning gripes. Siow Saturday mornings are often rare, a combination of relaxation and fear settled in. A slow morning was an invitation for fate to toss a coin. Heads, the day will be slow. Tails, all alone, I will face a hoard of people. But that didn’t matter, I had a cup of tea and I was at peace. I took another sip. my last sip, when from the corner of my eye the glass door swung open. Tails. “Heyl How’s it going?” I sat my tea down and pushed it out of the way. Customer service mode activated. “Goodl How are you?” I stepped into the blinding sun, only catching a glimpse of the woman’s dyed blonde hair and hastily drawn on eyebrows. I took her order. Vanilla mocha, half a pump of hazelnut (we don’t use pumps in this coffee shop), extra sweet, iced, and apparently made upside down, whatever that means. Before I could begin the first drink, a family walked into the shop. Then another person. Then another two people. Next thing I knew I was taking orders nonstop, all alone. I looked down the row of cups. Little soldiers dressed in pink, ready to be armed with caffeine anything from coffee to tea. They were ready for battle, while I, their general, was not. I ran back and forth, from register to drink. I felt like Sisyfuss rolling a boulder of coffee beans and pink cups up a mountain. “Hey how's it going guys!” “Oh! We’re just wonderful, it's our first time here!” The family that stood in front of me looked like every suburban Starbucks family. The mother had a wide strained smile and hair tall enough to reach Jesus, her husband had a baseball cap and seemed disinterested, the son was silent, tall, radiating teenage angst with every comb of his swooped XXVIII Exf'iessian Magazine. �'B.'iain hashing 'Ka.'usta. Justin Beiber bangs. His little sister who stood next to him looked about 12 with the mindset that she was 23. Her hair perfectly straightened and makeup up to the standards of Kylie Jenner. Her clothes were about 10 years too old for her, she tapped at her iPhone 15 mindlessly, hoping for a like on her newest Instagram post. “Okay well let me help you guys out here! If it’s your first time it'll be a little odd, we don’t have a main menu, so we work on a bar system..I ran through my mind numbing spiel, finishing off by telling the family that we don’t make frappuccinos. The mother’s face dropped a bit but was back to her forced smile in seconds. "Alright then! I’ll have umm..." She took a sugar free vanilla latte. Her husband asks for a mocha. "Don’t you want that sugar free?’’ His wife glanced at him, shooting daggers his way. “I can get what I want." He snapped back. "Fine. Logan, what do you want?” she attempted to smile like the sour interaction never occurred. The boy looked up vacantly from his hair combing and pondered for a minute. “Can I have a mocha frappuccino?” An urge boiled up in my body to slam my face into the counter in front of me. “Logan. She literally just said they don’t do frappuccinos.” His little sister rolled her eyes, looking up from her phone for just a moment. "Okay...I don’t know.” I recommend an iced mocha, it’s the same thing just not blended. He accepted, begrudgingly. “I want an iced white chocolate mocha with lavender and two shots” The girl asked robotically as if she had ordered this drink a thousand times. Finally they finished. They were the last group I had for the moment. I continued my journey up the mountain of cups. I poured and mixed, I burned my hands and ran drinks out on a small tray praying every time not to trip. Behind the counter I turned to pour milk into two cups when my eyes were accosted by red. The woman who appeared was dressed in all red, her nails, her lipstick, her sweater, her face. Red. “Is my drink almost ready?” It’s the woman whose drink I was currently making. “Yes ma’am, it’s nearly-” “Well, I’ve been waiting for too long and I’m tired of waiting.” "Ma’am. I’m sorry but I am only one person working back here, I 6^th EdiUanUti'taiM'ie XXIX �SosAZny ‘En'tista. don’t know if you can see this line of cups but I am in the process of making numerous drinks by myself. I’m sorry if it is taking a minute but if you would just be patient..." I put the lids on top of her and her husband’s drinks, ‘‘I will have these out for you right now.” I placed them on the counter in front of her. The woman glared at me and took a sip of her latte. “This isn’t soy milk.” She spit. “I don't believe you asked for soy milk.” I responded calmly as I continued down the line. "I did. This isn’t soy milk.” “I’m so sorry, would you like me to remake the drink?” I asked out of courtesy, I would have much rather thrown drinks at her. “No. I don’t want to wait any longer. I don’t care. Don’t remake it.” She stormed off back to her husband who sat patiently at the table. Finally, the rush died down and I delivered the last few drinks. The drone of voices in the dining room numbed my mind. I cleaned the mess that was left behind the counter and found myself laughing. What other place on Earth would you see these types of people? I’m frustrated constantly, yet once the rush is over, I’m reminded that these people too are human. I pulled my tea, now cold, out from its last resting place and downed what remained. I wondered how many people realized that they would be remembered for the ridiculous actions and words they spoke, Perhaps they will never know. XXX Cxf'icssitM Ma^aautc � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. 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All rights revert back to the author/artist after publication.</p> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2024 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Zoë von Gunten Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01_Exp_2024_Prose_01 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Casper College