Honestly, the title pretty much says it all.
A few weeks ago I moved back to my hometown, which is great but also not particularly buzz-worthy. I didn’t have a job lined up before I packed everything I owned into a U-Haul and drove 16 hours cross-country, so these weeks have been full of job searches and applications and lazy mornings spent playing with my cats. In short, everything one could hope for with a liberal arts degree.
One morning about a week ago I was sitting in a local coffee shop that I’ve visited since high school and it occurred to me, I could work here! I was a barista for 3 years in Missouri and I joke all the time about how making lattes is probably my strongest skill set coming out of college. So I asked an employee about applications and found one online and cheerfully started filling it out.
That night, and for three nights after that, I literally dreamed about making coffee. In these dreams I was working at the cafe and steaming beautiful pitchers of milk which I then poured into perfect lattes and cappuccinos. In these dreams I was absurdly proud of myself, and all my fellow baristas were in awe of my great talent. In these dreams I was wholly and completely satisfied with my place in life (and not without reason. They really were beautiful lattes.)
A few days later I was telling a friend about these dreams and this new job ambition and he just laughed and laughed. “So you’re an English major who wants to work in a coffee shop who is telling me about this while you sit and pretend to write in a coffee shop?” he asked.
“Yes, exactly,” I said. “I am all the stereotypes. I don’t want to miss a single one.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said. So I’m not going to.