Have you ever had a crush on a stranger that you see ALL THE TIME. You don’t know their name, where they’re from, what they do for fun, if they’re a dog or cat person, what their favorite band is, etc. They’re a stranger.
You see them regularly—maybe at your favorite study spot or Chipotle. Sometimes you stare too long. Sometimes you accidentally find yourself drooling.
You fantasize an entire life together:
- Work up the courage to introduce yourself.
- Instantly fall in love.
- Love leads to numerous, perfectly-planned dates.
- Then marriage.
- Then world travel
- Maybe some kids (meh)
- Settle down
- Mind-numbing 9-5 job.
- Come home and spend the evening talking about life and movie plots.
- Die within 10 minutes of each other at an old age in your sleep.
I skipped a few other details, but you get the picture.
I have one of these stranger crushes. I call him “The Barista.”
He wears flannel, has the perfect haircut/beard combo, and is super nice and charming.
The other day, I ordered my mocha latte from him. He spelled my name correctly on the receipt (swoon), then told me to stick around because it’d be done in a minute. It was a long minute, but I didn’t mind. I got to watch him craft my coffee. He then filled the mug to the brim in an attempt to create an intricate flower pattern out of steaming milk. It lead to an awkward sipping from the counter so I wouldn’t spill, but he was very funny about it.
I don’t know his name and I know I’ll never actually say anything other than “Mocha, please” and “Can you punch my card?” (see previous blog).
So this is to you, nameless barista. Thank you for always making me smile and producing the most delicious mocha I’ve ever had. I look forward to many more daydreams of our (non) life together.
(Is this weird?)