I saw her for the first time in a year yesterday.

My son and I were visitng with my mother and sister at a restaurant. They had called me while I was shopping at the mall for Christmas presents. Feeling beat, I thought it would be nice to sit and chat with them. I told them I would meet them in an hour.

I ventured to a store, trying to find something to buy for my mom. This year, our budget it tight, (what year isn't?) and I was looking for something inexpensive but nice. She means a lot to me, my mom, and I didn't want a cruddy gift to represent my feelings for her. My teenage years dwelled in the cruddy gift department. Unfortuntately for me this year, the year we have no money, she asked for iron floor lamps for the living room. She mentioned hand lotions are always nice too. So there I was, looking for hand lotion that she would love as much as iron floor lamps.

The store had lots of smelly stuff, candles, and make up. The products screamed at me. "I'm the BEST! Better than REGULAR hand lotion! Only 25 dollars!" The colors were vivid and bright, emphasized by the store's high-watt light bulbs. I pulled my sun glasses over my blinded eyes and swerved around another display table. There was a product for every skin condition possible. Dry skin, oily skin, cracked skin, blistered skin, white skin, black skin. Oils and lotion for tanning, make-up to conceal, candles to cover smells, candles to eliminate smells. Something for everyone. Except me.

I was overwhelmed, decided to leave, and headed for the elevator. Shopping with a stroller is great because I don't have to carry my son the whole time, but the down side is taking the elevator. There are always three or four other strollers waiting for the elevator. Strollers that never move side to side easily. We end up hauling the enormous things to a side as our kid's head sways uncontrolling, trying to fit everyone in the box on a rope.

I love watching the other mom's relate to their kids. Most of them were in a bad mood, stressed out and tired, trying to be nice to their innocent kids babbling away about nothing. There were two girls who, thankfully, no longer required a stroller, but absolutely had to hit the floor's button we were trying to get to. Both of them had to hit it. Twice. Kids are great because they have no inhibitions what-so ever. They'll talk to anybody they feel like, point at babies like they are the rarest, friendliest, aliens ever. I love it.

I smiled at them as they eyed Harper, who was passed out, his arms up around his head. Why they were up around his head, I don't know, must have been confortable for him or something, but it sure looked funny. His mouth was wide open too. I should have taken a picture of him. That would have been perfect to put a caption by his face, "I'm spent!".

Our wild ride in the box on a rope ended and we spilled out from the doors. It was like the scene in Titanic, (ok, ALL the scenes in Titanic), where water busts through a glass window and begins filling the boat with it's icy fury. The girls ran out, each headed in a different direction, the mom grabbing one by the sleeve and pulling her towards the other. Joining side by side, they trotted a few steps ahead of their mom who no longer hid her exhaustion. She ambled behind them, her head slightly back and her feet dragging. I would've thought she was drunk, but her balance was too strong to be inebriated.

I needed to go down one more floor. The brilliant mall architechs decided to put each elevator in a completely different spot to go to the next floor. I can't take just ONE elevator to go to the first floor. I have to walk through the food court, which is always packed with starving, grumpy people, or obnoxious teenagers who dart their eyes about, looking for acceptance, looking for the reactions of strangers to their loudness. I was on a mission. Harper and I formed a frieght train and began charging towards the next roped box. Harper was unconcious still, but I'll still give him credit. Even though we were a massive entity heading towards them, people made no effort to get out of our way. So my effort to make a bee-line was deterred. I decided to spare their lives. This time. Next time, forget it. I'll be so stressed out from shopping I won't even care. We'll just flatten them, Harper and I, with our SUV stroller.

We finally made it to the elevator. This particular one pings really loud, making Harper jump each time it did. I love watching his eyes open partly and then dissolve closed, resealing themselves in slumber. Also joining us, was a father and his son, who loved to talk REALLY LOUD. I think Harper just got used to the kid's voice, because after his first startle, he rejoined his dreams quickly and stayed there.

The doors parted and we were free. I pushed Harper around the corner, right by the kiddie corner, and stopped. I was lost in my mind. I had to refocus. I asked myself out loud, "where are we going?" I identified myself on the first floor. We were going to the car. Then to meet mom. But why were we on the first floor? We are parked on the THIRD floor. Why did I go to the first floor? AHHHRG!

I returned to the elevator, pushed it's button as fast as I could, expecting the doors to fly open in anticipation of my hurry. Nothing. I stood there as the doors parted and families spilled from it's guts. I swung our party aside and let them pass and you know what that elevator did as I pushed Harper towards it? It closed it's doors! It denied me entrance, which I thought particularly unfair considering my situation. I retaliated and hit it's button again. Since it had not parted to the ONLY other floor it visits, I was granted entry, but only because I was fast enough to play.

Two elevator rides later, we were at the car, Harper still out cold. I parked the stroller by his door, thankful he was still asleep. I tossed his bag in the back and took a second to stare at his peaceful face. So angelic, so perfect. I smiled and took a deep breath when suddenly, head lights flashed on me. Expecting a car to drive by, I began unhooking his lap belt. The car did not drive by, in fact, it stopped behind me and offered it's annoying, blinding light so courteously to me. I did not look up and stepped in front of my child to shield him from the rays. I picked up Harper and as his head flopped on to my shoulder, I sat in the car and strapped him in while my "friend" waited for me, still shining his light. Then, I put the presents I bought in the trunk and reached over to fold up the stroller. This stroller is so cool because all you have to do is twist the handle and the whole thing flops down. I packed that up as well, hopped in the front seat, and got the car going.

I reversed, and as I did, I noticed another car had pulled up at my friends adjacent side. I felt a little tension between them, but they lay their differences aside to back up and let me out. I felt like a celebrity, them letting me pass and all. I should've waved, but as my friend zipped into my spot, I remembered him blinding me and denied him.

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Not done, but that's not the point. I'm just trying to work on my detail writing. :o) Merry Christmas!

I used to work at Starbucks. It was a spiritual experience. For an 18 year old girl, just begining her path to self-discovery, encountering hundreds of people with lives completely opposite her, it was an eye-opener.

I began working there in 2002, just before I began college at a state school. I was so excited to go to college. I wanted freedom. I wanted independence. I wanted resposiblilty. This was of course, before I actually ever had to pay bills of any sort.

I knew nothing of the coffee world. Not a clue what a latte was, not even sure how to brew a batch. I got the job easily and once I started my training, I thought, "Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?" I was handed workbooks and manuals to go through. My first attempt at completing them, I tried to ask a lot of questions to be sure I knew my stuff. Most of the answers I got were "oh, we don't do it that way here. So we'll just have to show you later." Since I get absolutely nothing out of workbooks anyway, I flew through them, copying down the answers I needed to, knowing that I just had to get on the floor and be shown what to do. I just needed to get my feet wet. I didn't know that I would literally, get my feet wet.

As soon as I stepped out behind the service counter, there was a huge puddle by the bar, that work mats were failing to cover. Why it didn't dawn on me that a pool of water might be somewhat unsanitary, I don't know, but I stood there and tried to secretly examine the work environment and still be cool at the same time. My self-esteem was very fragile. I was told I was beautiful all the time, but it only counted if it was a guy that said it, and it was a guy that I liked who said it to me.

There were two "partners" (Starbucks calls employees partners so everyone has a share in the company), behind the bar. They were young men who looked a little older than I. They seemed bitter and had attitudes. I didn't like them much, but wanted them to be nice to me because I was new. They said hi and Adam, the more lanky, scruffy one said, "welcome to hell". I laughed at him and a switch flicked on in my brain. A switch of self-preservation, of reasoning. I thought to myself, "no, it can't be that bad. He's not a Christian. Since I'm a Christian, it won't be that bad."

My life paused for a second. That moment is a polaroid in my mind. A snapshot of me swallowing my first gulp of real life. My eyes are open slightly larger than normal and I'm looking down, to my left at nothing on the floor. My arms are folded across my chest on top of my green apron. My hair is pulled back. I look pretty. Young. Full of life. One would think that I look like a normal "first day employee", a little shy, uncomfortable. But my eyes. The eyes. Staring at that picture long enough, I know that my eyes don't match the rest of my body. My soul changed that day. Stepping into that puddle and talking to Adam opened my eyes allowing my new self to shine through my pupils. I look back at that picture with pity and love, smiling at my naievity.

I splashed through the swamp and reached Liz, the heavy set, jovial woman who would be training me. She was a shift supervisor with huge breasts, stringy hair, typical East Baltimore "hown" accent, and missing teeth. Her clothes were too tight and she had a hard time manuvering behind the counter. Aside from her appearance, she was bubbly and friendly, although I knew immediately not to upset her because she seemed perturbed at the resposiblility of training me. I was frightened of her. She was annoyingly friendly to the customers that, at first, seemed wonderful because she was so kind to people. I wanted to greet people that way, it felt nice. I would never have guessed that she would eventually give me anxiety attacks.

I wondered if she was a Christian because she was so friendly. My Christian radar was in full-scan mode. I was trying to find anyone with that in common with me. I started to assume that friendly people were Christians and mean people weren't. Liz for a couple hours, seemed like a lovely Christian woman who served people. Then she swore, covered her mouth and giggled like a school girl. I remember looking at her, giggling with her, although apalled she has just spoken that, and immediatly X-ed her off the Christian list. So far on the list was... me. That's ok, I thought, there are others here.

The first thing I learned was how to brew coffee. Why it was so hard for me to grasp the concept of brewing coffee, I don't know, but it was. Liz was getting impatient with me, muttering under her breath about not having enough people on the floor to take on a trainee. I wanted to cry. I wasn't trying to do anything wrong. I was trying. At my old job, I was one of the best workers, I could be like that here too. I knew it. I had to do it. I had to prove myself to them.

That day I stuck next to an older man named Ryan. I had no idea why he worked at Starbucks. He looked older and clung to the register like it was his baby blanket. I would ask him questions and he would look at me like, "why the hell are you asking ME questions?" Then I learned he was only a few days newer than me and I was dissapointed because he was the only one who I thought was nice enough to answer me.

The rest of my training was a blur. I learned how to make coffee and whipped creams. I learned how to wipe counters and how to work the register. I got used to these things. I felt safe and reliable doing them. I had no idea how to work the espresso bar and frankly I was in no hurry to try. It scared the shit out of me. The thing was loud and blew hot steam out of it. People that worked on it were always pissed off and stressed out. Busy. I thought they would kill me if I got in the way.

Learning to call drinks was an expirience in and of itself. I had no idea what I was doing. My manager Kate, who was so nice and friendly, I was so thankful to have her there, would try to coach me on it, but really, it didn't stick for like 6 weeks. For some reason, I always worked Saturday mornings when we were insanely busy. So busy, the line would be out the door, 20 people in line, 15 waiting for their drinks. Busy. It was nice because my shift would over really fast, but it was so stressful, I had no idea what I was doing, that I would cry in my car if I had a break.

Customers were mean. New partners were fresh meat. A chance for evil people to show how proficient they are at how they order their drinks. Oh God were they mean. I couldn't believe how rude people were. How snobby. There was an older gentleman I waited on who ordered two lattes. One decaf venti, sugar-free vanilla, skim, no foam latte and a half-calf, venti, regular vanilla, two percent, light foam latte. He ordered like this:

"I need two lattes. One skim. One two percent. Uhm, the skim one is decaf and no-foam. The other one is half-calf, light foam, two percent. Oh and vanilla. And I forgot on the the skim one, no foam."

I thought to myself: "how the hell am I going to do this." And since they were so considerate, I, the new person, was on the farthest register, about 20 feet away from the bar where I was supposed to "call" these drinks to.

So I cleared my throat and yelled, "Ordering!"

No one heard me at the bar. Another partner was a calling a drink.

So I shouted, "Ordering!"

Still no response, the other register was ordering. They spouted off what they wanted so fast, I didn't bother listening.

Once more, less confident, "Ordering!"

My manager perkily said, "Go ahead Shell-bell!" She was a bubbly person like Liz too. Except she was genuinely nice and silly. Kate was her name. I liked her a lot. I felt eased that she would help me.

I opened my mouth to speak and realized I had completely forgotten what the man had said to me. I looked at him and said "what did you order again? Sorry. I'm new."

Clearly, he didn't care and as soon as he realized he had been stuck with a newbie, he raised his voice a little and talked tensely to me. So we went back and forth.

He would said what he wanted and I would echo him.

"Two lattes."

"Two lattes!"

"One skim and decaf."

"One skim and decaf!"

"Sugar-free vanilla"

"Sugar-free vanilla!"

"And no foam."

"No foam!"

"The other is vanilla, two-percent."

"Vanilla!"

I looked at him, forgetting what else he said.

"TWO PERCENT."

"Two percent!"

"And half-calf."

My manager smiled at me, "ok Shell, what size?"

I looked at him and said, "what size?" He looked at me and then to Kate desperately wanting her to come over and finish the transaction, but she didn't move.

He had forgotten what size his wife wanted and finally said, what sizes are there again?

I had forgotten myself and looked over at Kate, "hey Kate, what are the sizes again?"

Holding up each cup for visual comparison she said, "tall, grande, and venti."

He pointed to the farthest one saying, "venti, yeah that's it, venti."

So I rang him up, didn't charge him for the syrups simply because I didn't know how and he asked if that was the right price. I said, "yup" and he shrugged his shoulders and handed me a 20. I gave him his change and he stormed off to wait 10 minutes for his drink.

Then a new customer, even more peeved than him, since they had to wait in line, would march up and get right to business.

Finally, after about 6 weeks, I started to get used to the line of work. Drink calling took forever to learn. I would practice at night as I was trying to fall asleep. Then I would drink call in my sleep. Starbucks consumed me. The work became a little fun and I stopped crying on my breaks.

I feel like sharing my story. It's nothing profound like being rescued from an avalanch or pulled from the ocean after floating there for 10 days, but it may be beneficial for those looking for something more. Basically, I'll share all my shit and you'll read it an try to see if any of my lessons learned are applicable to you.

Just kidding.

I do have some thoughts to share though.

I'm 22 years old an before you close this book I want to say that things are not as they seem. For example, when I say I'm 22 years old you probably thought I'm single or maybe dating someone, just finished college and getting my feet wet in the career world Well, wrong, sorry. I'm 22 years old, college drop out, married with a 9 month old son. I've been through what many people take 10 years to process. So, In a way, this is my therapy. Thanks for listening.

As I mentioned before, I didn't finish college, I just wasn't the scholarly type then. Going back does hold my attention for those of you poo-pooing me, but mostly to feel like I'm 20 again and to escape this horror as they call it: the "real" world. And maybe to expand my knowledge on a few subjects in the process.

Truth is, I find life so much more interesting than formal schooling. I just don't learn from being told what to do. Just ask my mother that. We spent years butting heads, her trying to point out helpful tips on making life easier, and me putting my hand in her face saying "back-off: let me figure this out." Then, of course, I'd figure out some variation on what she was telling me- go figure. I'd think to myself, "wow, Shelley, your Mom knows what she's talking about." It took a long time for me to realize that's just how I function. Trial and error, intuition. Then I forgave myself.

All day I have felt creative, like all I have wanted to do is sit and write. Here I am, with the whole evening free, and every creative bone in my body has broken. I am a pile of flesh and muscles on the floor. Forget my brain working, that left years ago. Atleast I still had my creative bones left. Great. Now what am I going to do?
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I met the man of my dreams today. Oh God, I can barely write I am so excited! I was in Starbucks this morning, getting my usual latte before work, and there he was, working there! I know, I thought to myself, what on earth is this beautiful man doing working in a coffee shop? Then I remembered my current self-improvement project is to stop being judgemental because that makes me a mean person, and anyway, there he was.

So of course, the store was packed, though I've never been to this store before, but they're all the same. Busy. Especially when I need them to fast. I strutted in, feeling especially sexy today. I actually woke up on time allowing myself ample space to get ready and even eat breakfast. Props to me. Yay!

Anyway, I pulled my sunglasses on top of my head and got into line, trying to remember exactly what I wanted, though they seem to know for me. Like they can read my mind. Or me. I wonder if they stero-type customers? Grande, sugar-free, skim, latte. Extra-hot.

AH! I digress. I order, pick up my drink, and went to the bar-thingy where I put in a splenda, just for a little sweetness. I gotta keep it sweet, yeah baby.

Then, suddenly, there he was, right next to me. At first, I thought he was just another customer, then he started wiping the countertop with a rag. I looked up to smile at him because my service had been especially lovely that morning. Simultaneously, his scent and dashing looks consumed me and I felt my cheeks burn with shyness. I am not a shy person by any means, but his looks stunned me. Just paralyzed me. Dark brown hair grown out to shape his face. Deep brown eyes that lock into mine and search my soul. Perfect smile. A dimple! (I love dimples!). Perfectly trim body. Arms that pop out of his shirt. Good Lord, I am getting so fluttery thinking about him! He was like a Starbucks model.

He said hello to me and smiled as he wiped the counter off. I managed a hello. I would look away as soon as he would make eye contact with me and the second he looked away, I would stare at him. Of course at this point, I had mustered the ability to use my legs and scrambled over to a table to gather myself.

Ok, here is the great part. Normally, upon encountering this situation, I would likely pretend I had something to do, and gather my belongings. I would proudly leave, parade out of the store totally in control of the situation. For the rest of the day I would day dream about that man and replay the situation to my favor if I were someone with any sort of confidence around men. Then, the next day or two days after, I would return to where ever I saw him and hope that I'd bump into him there. If not, he would become a beautiful memory I would hold onto, a man that raised the bar for me.

Not today! As I searched my purse to "check" my blackberry, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, he was staring at me. I thought, "surely, I don't know him do I?" So I carelessly looked up at him. Our eyes met and though I didn't know him, we were smiling. Totally off guard, my retreat plan foiled, he began to approach me! My heart started racing. I could've hyperventilated right there, in front of him, not to mention the 25 other people flowing in and out of the store.

Thankfully, I had returned my sunglasses to my head and I was able to "look out the window" to monitor his approach. The table I had melted to, happened to be handicap (he was paralyzing, I didn't feel guilty), and he athletically seated himself across from me.

Our conversation continued as follows:

"Hi."

"Hi."

"My name is Adam."

"Trisha."

"I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met."

(giggling) "Thank you."

Silence. SO many thoughts racing through my head. Did he just say that? Should I tell him how dangerously gorgeous he is? I should say something. I am NOT beautiful. What the hell is he thinking? I looked around me and picked out five women more beautiful than I. I WAS feeling sexy that day, but that just means I felt like leaving the house, not meeting the man of my dreams, let alone sitting down and having an all out conversation with him. Think of something clever. Say something clever. BE something clever!

"Really. I wanted to... needed to tell you that."

I stared at him. He's handsome, but must be crazy.

"I've seen you in here before and have wanted to tell you so much."

Uhhh.... Hello!? I've never been here before. I felt so awkward. Should I tell him?

"I'm sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else, I've never been here before."

He was embarassed and looked down at the table.

Silence. I smile that "I want to get out of here but don't want to be rude and hurt this man's feelings" smile.

"Sorry, uhh..."

I smiled and said, "I need to get to work. It was nice meeting you." I held out my hand to shake his.

He stared at it as if shaking it would defeat him, and reached out and grasped my hand. Tingles shot up my arm as I gazed into his eyes. He stood to meet me. The encounter felt very sexual.

"I hope to see you again."

I smiled, waiting for my mouth to say something, but all I could do was sigh. Then, I realized I had just sighed to finish off the totally odd moment we had already experienced. I felt so dumb. He laughed and smiled at me. I turned and retreated, pretending I had some important life that called me as I opened the cafe door.

I kept my composure, no smile, no hint of emotion, until I had made it into my car, buckled my seat belt, (which felt like the hardest accomplishment), and turned on my car. Then the thought occurred to me, "am I able to drive?" Reality smacked me across the face and my lips, puckered in their sexy-pose, turned up slightly. I knew I had to get out of there before I started laughing. I didn't want him to see me!

So I reversed the car out of the parking spot, turned toward the exit, and casually looked in my rear view mirror at the store, hoping I'd see him staring back at me. I couldn't see anything.

I made it safely to work, while my mind processed the encounter thoroughly. Once I had parked and was about to un-buckle, I allowed myself to decompress and giggle. I giggled for several minutes. Ok, more like squeal, hit the steering wheel, shake my body in a funny dance giggle.

So yeah. The rest of the day was normal, with the exception of Adam absorbing my every thought and moment.

I'm trying to decide if I'll return to store tomorrow or not...


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UGHH. Sorry. I know it's crap, but thanks for obliging. I had to write, just because I can! Baby went to sleep at 7 and husband is out with his buddies tonight. So, setting all house work aside, I have FREE TIME!