NMBJ13

When we were sitting on squashy couches, with our knees pressed against the coffee table, tapping out notes on our iPhones the Barista Jam was just barely starting to come together.  My grandiose vision consisted of coffee lovers and party people melding in one room for one afternoon, clapping one another on the back and laughing heartily.  Music pumping, espresso pulling, pour over brewing, you get the idea.

I am pleased to announce that with a couple of hitches and my very own style of haphazard organization the Northwest Montana Barista Jam 2013 was a blast.  Colter collaborated with 5 Sparrows Cafe Products and  Montana Coffee Traders for a super good time on the afternoon of May 19th.

When we originally hatched the plan the idea was to have coffee types all get together in a comfortable, informal setting.  Then we added a few tables with different pour over methods such as aero press, Chemex, and Hario pour over.  Across the room from the pour over bars was our vintage La Marzocco who got to come out to play for the day.  It was good to see her.  Ever since Kiki moved in downtown we don't get to play with the sweet double group head much. Did you know we call our downtown machine Kiki?  Yeah.

All in all everyone who attended had a great time.  Or else they put on an excited face to make me feel better.  The highlight was the latte art throwdown.  After all the donations were collected the competitors were playing for $150 cold hard cash money.  It was intense.  We did an applause-o-meter and the final tie breaking  pour off was done with the spectators outside allowing the finalist baristas, who were Allison Stayer of Colter and Matthew Bussard of MCT, to concentrate wholly on the task at hand.  The competition was stiff and all the baristas involved brought their A game and everyone was a definite threat to the crown but in the end Matthew Bussard of Montana Coffee Traders took the title, the cash, the Espresso Parts Northwest swag and, most coveted, Pump Pot Dolly (see photo).

We are already looking forward to another event and ideas of new components and activities are sparking.  Thanks to everyone who made it great!

The Barista Jam also marked a bit of a sad occasion.  It was the final time several of Colter's baristas would still be Colter girls and boys.  Allison, Richie and Ty have transitioned out and I have bowed out and taken off my management sash and barista nametag.  Like I said, a bit sad, but also very exciting to see some of our beloved employees finding their bliss, even if it doesn't include being on our payroll.  As for myself I can spend more time with my ping pong ball of a kid while still offering up fbook updates and blog posts.  I can 98% guarantee that I will pick up a shift here and there so y'all will still be slurpin' my swill.  I just can't say goodbye.  This is my bliss.  Don't tell the head cheese I said that.

Also, I know I have said this before and I really hope what I'm about to say becomes reality.  I have some serious confidence this time around that sweet custom designed t-shirts will be on the shelves soon!  And by soon I mean soon in Head Cheese time which is much more of a loose term than normal people.  It's like when a woman is 6 months pregnant and someone says she's going to have a baby "soon."  Yeah.  Soon for you, buddy.  There is nothing soon about those last four months. Yes, four, the nine month pregnancy is a hugely disconcerting and disappointing myth.  So this t-shirt baby is going to be here "soon".  We're gestating it as I type.  Be excited.


I leave you with this:

A nun, a priest, a Scotsman, an Irishman, a blond and a rabbi walk into a bar.

The bartender looks up and says, "What is this?  Some sort of joke?"




My kid's head is stuck between the wall and the couch.  Gotta go.

The Mecca

"You know what you can do while I'm gone?!"

"Tell me."

"Write a blog post!"

"Yeah.  It's been too long.  But I don't have much in the way of material lately.  I haven't been in the shop much."

"So write about life! C'monnnnnn.  Write anything!  Tell a story!"

Welp.  What the Head Cheese wants, he gets.  That's what we let him think anyway.

So, there we were.  In the hotel bar in Korea Town in LA waiting for our Josh Ritter concert to start.  Now, let me preface this by saying that Grady and I don't necessarily love hotel bars.  Now, show me a dive where there are no doors on the bathroom and the bartender looks like she started smoking at twelve and then had four kids by the time she was seventeen.  That's the spot for us.

In fact, that reminds me of another story.  Don't worry, we'll go back to Korea Town soon but for now, come up to Fairbanks with me. 

So, there we were.  In a no water, no power cabin in the middle of the woods in Fairbanks, Alaska in January.  The only reason to go to Fairbanks, Alaska in January is to see a family member who has dropped severely ill or to see Josh Ritter.  We were there for the latter.  Anyway, we hitched a ride out of the no water no power cabin to the UAF (University Alaska Fairbanks) campus to go mingle with some co-eds and go a few miles on the XC ski course.  En route we get the tour of bustling downtown Fairbanks.  When I say bustling what I mean is it's pretty dingy and the most activity I saw at 9am were some natives sitting on the sidewalk outside of a tiny windowed bar called The Mecca.  Ski course was cool, we saw not one but two moose and Grady fell over about four times.  We definitely earned our beers at the campus bar.  At the UAF pub we find, I'm not even kidding you, a dude with a pinky ring and a beret drinking a glass of wine with some textbook open on his table.  No one else.  We get a pitcher and walk into the vicinity of beret boy.  Now, in mine and Grady's travels I am the face and he is the bank.  We need information, I am sent to negotiate with locals and then he buys whatever it is we need to get where we're going.  So, I head over to BB to see what he knows about this town.  

"This place always this happenin?!"  I start with a bit of a laugh.

Completely unimpressed he replies by rolling his eyes from his text book up to me and then back down.
"I mean, this place is pretty sweet but I guess I was just wondering if there are any other bars around?  Maybe even one with a liquor license?"
"I dunno.  This is where my friends and I usually hang."
Yeah.  Friends.  Right.  I decide to attack from a different angle, "well, when we were driving up here I saw some action at a place called The Mecca.  Is that --"
He cuts me off, "The Mecca?  The Mecca?  No one goes to The Mecca.  Especially if you're not native or not looking for trouble.  I have lived here 24 years and never have gone and never will go to The Mecca.  You shouldn't either."
"Great, thanks for the help!"
Grady and I chug our beers and call a cab.  To The Mecca it is.

The cab driver also didn't seem like he thought we should go to The Mecca.  I think they have to take you where you ask them to though so he steered us downtown.  As we were getting out he asked us one last time if we were sure we didn't want to go back up to the University.  Thanks, buddy.  We got this.
To be perfectly honest with you I have no idea what those people were so worried about!  It was exactly what we had been looking for ever since we arrived.  Granted, it was only noon and it was super busy which you don't see everyday but I got the distinct feeling that you do see that every day at this place.  At first I wondered why the patrons weren't at work and as the day wore on I realized that not only were they not really the "working" type, some of them were in fact at work.  I could have bought an animal skin vest with fringe and glow in the dark beads, a puffy fox fur hat, a dream catcher, a lighter that looked like a rifle or a t-shirt with two wolves staring into the sky and a big moon behind them and Alaska written in silvery sparkly graffiti looking cursive at the bottom.  I almost went for the fox fur hat but then the woman selling it told me it was $275.  Girl, you have three teeth and you're at The Mecca.

At the far end of the bar sat a huge man who also did not have very many teeth.  Due to his lack of teeth and his level of inebriation he whistled and spat a lot while he spoke which was kinda funny and kinda terrifying.  The teeny bartender kept yelling at him to go home and quite spitting in her cherries.  He would gesture wildly, knock over his bar stool and come down to the other end of the bar.  I'm not sure if he thought he was tricking her?  Because she definitely knew it was the same giant toothless spitting drunk dude.  I think I missed some debauchery because all of a sudden the FPD were there in uniform to haul him off to the drunk tank.  Grady and I mentioned to the bartender that we were pretty impressed with how she handles all the drunks and especially our friend Steven.  Steven being the giant toothless one.  She just kinda shrugged it off.  "Happens everyday," she said.  "They can only keep him downtown 5 hours.  He'll be back."

After Steve left we needed some more entertainment so Grady handed me a $20 and motioned toward the jukebox.  Normally I would have put on some Bob Dylan, some Josh Ritter, some Crosby Stills Nash and Young, some Steve Miller Band, Tom Petty and maybe a pinch of Lady Gaga for good measure.  This day, however, something got into me and I played Avril Lavigne's, "Girlfriend."  I don't mean that I played Avril Lavigne's, "Girlfriend" once.  I mean I played $20 worth of Avril Lavinge's, "Girlfriend."  Oh yeah.  That happened.  The natives loved it!  By the 13th or 14th time around they knew the words and we were doing shots every time she said, "think you need a new one!"  I even got to wear the fox fur hat and dance on the bar.  And either they let him out early or $20 goes really really far in a jukebox in Alaska because eventually even Steve was back and dancing with us.  The big lumbering idiot picked me up and spun me around at some point and plopped me down on the pool table.  I was in dirty dive bar heaven.

Somehow Grady's brother, Sean, found us.  I blame BB at the campus bar.  Sean drug us out of there and tried to feed us pizza promising that we would go back to The Mecca.

I'm still waiting.

This was going to be a story about Josh Ritter and Korea Town.  I only have a couple stories about Korea Town but I have lots and lots about Josh Ritter.  I'll have even more after tomorrow!  Josh Ritter at the Wilma here I come!

By the way, here's the fox fur hat!  It's pretty sweet but do you think it's $275 sweet?



And of course, your joke.

A drum and a cymbal fall off a cliff...






.




.



Badoom CHA!

The debatable art of the cappuccino

I want to take a few moments and tell you guys about a drink we offer called the, "cappuccino."  This post is inspired by a recent interaction I had whilst slingin.

There I am, in my groove, pulling 21 second shots (perfect) and stretching velvety microbubble milk (perfect).  I get an 8oz to-go cup on the bar.  "2x cap," is scrawled on the cup.  Sweet.  I got this.

I want to pause the story to tell you what a cappuccino is.  That way when I tell the end of the story all of you would have to be crazy not to be on my side.  Not that there are sides.  The customer is always right.  Heh.

So, traditionally, back in the day over across the pond the standard cappuccino was a 6oz drink.  1/3 shots, 1/3 milk, 1/3 foam.  In this case two ounces of each.  The shots are what we call ristretto shots or 'short shots'.  But that is a whole nother entry.  This one focuses more on the milk.  When steamed correctly the milk and the foam should be married in a lovely union of creamy not-too-thick-not-too-thinness.  My mom used to say the Colorado River is too thick to drink, too thin to plow.  Similar concept.  Except you can, in fact, drink it and when you do all those thousands of bubbles your barista just steamed up will dance across your tongue.  The best way to tell a well made cap is to pick it up.  If it feels heavy, like when you pick up a latte, it is probably a latte.  Chances are the milk wasn't stretched properly.  If you pick up a cap and it feels light, like maybe your barista didn't fill the cup all the way that is a true cappuccino.  You tell by the weight, not by the look of the milk.  If you go by the look of the milk you are looking for a dry cappuccino.

Here is where it gets trickier.  The cappuccino can be customized to the customers liking.  A dry cap is foamier, a wet cap is milkier.  Often times with a dry cap the barista will have scoops of steamed milk on top that looks almost like meringue.  Sweet peaks of dairy to dip your cookie in.

Without any specification we make a traditional cappuccino.  The method of thirds.

So, now you know.

Now, I get this 8oz cup on the bar that says "2x cap."  As I said before I was rockin my mojo.  I'm not downtown quite so often anymore so when I am there I am basically Bon Jovi.  I'm high fiving with one hand, steaming milk with the other.  Kissing babies and wrapping pastries.  Doling out relationship advice and counting money.  At this rate I'm expecting to be awarded a medal for making this cappuccino.  As I set my shots I was thinking about the employee meeting  we held specifically discussing steaming milk for the cappuccino.  Man, our customers are lucky we care so much, right?

"Uhm.  I asked for a cappuccino."  I am snapped out of my lala daydream by the gentleman scrutinizing my performance.

Thinking he perhaps was worried his drink had been forgotten in the lineup I cheerily assured him I was pouring it now and he would be enjoying it in just a momen--

"No.  I said I ordered a cappuccino.  That is a latte."

"Oh, well.  I know it can be hard to tell sometimes until you taste but--"

"I know the difference.  A cappuccino has foam.  Whatever you just made is just milk.  I saw."

"Here, let's just start over."  I take his cup back and start setting fresh shots.

Just to make conversation and also to maybe help homeboy realize he doesn't have to treat me like a complete idiot to clear up the situation I chat him up with, "Okay, so, maybe you're looking for more of a dry cappuccino?  The foamier cappuccino where the milk is in more rigid dollops on top?"

"There's only one way to make a cappuccino and it's espresso with foam on top."

"Well actually, jackass, that is what we call a macchiato."

I didn't say that in real life.  I said that in I Heart Customer Service the newest reality hit TV show on Bravo.  Watch what happens.

In real life I said (with a slightly waning smile), "Yeah.  That's debatable."

And THEN because this man clearly was not backing down he retorted with, "I don't think so."

To which in IHCS I said, "You know, you're right.  I've been here 5 years.  The dry cappuccino happens to be my favorite drink to make and I make a damn fine one but you're right.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  Someone else should manage the store.  Maybe you should!  You wanna jump back here?!"

In real life I didn't actually say anything.  I offered up a smile and a dry cappuccino with shiny, scoopable, sweet, structured foam in thick dollops that jiggled a little when I slid it to his side of the counter.

Success.  His face softened a little.  He took a sip, er, bite, and said, "so, next time I should ask for my cap to be dry?"

With a genuine smile and a nod I sent him on his way, all wrongs forgiven and some round about extra job satisfaction.

And that, my friends, is a cappuccino.

Introducing... The sexiest voice in coffee.

I'm sure you guys already know this but we're in the thick of my birth month.  I share my birth month with another of our Colter family members, Pete!  His day is today!  If you happen to see him in the next few days give him a tip of the hat, he's off to conquer 26!

So, if you wouldn't mind, when you walk into the shop you should tell the barista at the register (and anyone else who will listen) how lovely the fall bouquet of fake flowers on top of the fridge looks.  Yeah, that was me.  Also, the facelift on the shadow box by the door.  I found a picture of polar bears hugging.  Seemed appropriate so I hung it.

Did you see on our fbook page or in Sunday's paper that we will be competing in America's Best Espresso competition?!  So awesome.  We are sending the Head Cheese over to Seattle this weekend for the festivities.  Both Pete and I will be off on our own separate birth month adventures so that just left the big man in charge to go geek out in SeaTown.  Don't tell him I told you this but I'm a little nervous.  The man pulls a fabulous shot, don't get me wrong.  I just feel like my teenage daughter is taking the car out for the first time alone.  But really, that's silly because it's the Head Cheese's proverbial teenage daughter.  Keep your fingers crossed and keep an eye out for Facebook updates to see how we are doing.  HC pulls his first shot on Friday at 3:43 pm.  Woot.

Since we will probably win the America's Best Espresso competition and our popularity will likely skyrocket which will in turn mean we will have way more wholesale accounts and way more need for beans, beans, beans, now is the time to prepare.  Step one in this multi-phase top secret expansion project is to create a training video so the masses can access our method for recreation in their own coffee shop.  Yes, I hear you whispering sellout.  Shush.  We still have secrets.  I have them hidden in Regina George's hair.  Next we have to record a voice over so people understand what they're watching when tuning into the video.

During the voice over our Renaissance Man and beloved "art guy," Julius, told me I have a future in the voice over industry.  Apparently I'm a natural.  He also told me I have a perfect face for radio.  Oh, that man.  He sure knows how to make a girl blush.  Anyway, before I know it some guy called Joe is telling me to shoot him a line, we'll record a radio spot, he's been dying to get Colter's ad revived considering the current spot is like 17 years old and I am hands down the one for the job.  Basically what I am trying to say is that I have become an overnight sensation.  Sexiest voice in coffee.  So, tune into KALS or buy wholesale beans from us to get the training tutorial video and prepare to be dazzled.

I'm probs gonna get a spankin with the fly swatter (that is Brenda's most favorite form of discipline) for this but GUESS WHAT?!?!?!?!  Wedding bells are chiming!  Brenda is gettin' hitched!  I am so excited.  As of October 20th Brenda will no longer be Auntie Brenda she will be Mrs. Auntie Brenda!  So while your hat tippin Pete for being born give Brendarr a tip for being lovely and in love!

I have much more to say but I just looked over to see my child faceplanted into the carpet with his arms flailing behind him and his foot stuck in his mouth.  Better handle that.  Don't forget to vote for me in the upcoming Mother of the Year award!

Have I told you the one about the hippies?  It's not super appropriate so I probably haven't but it's a good one.

Here goes.

How many hippies does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Give up?

They don't screw in lightbulbs, they screw in dirty sleeping bags!

Peace out boy scout

Making do until the zombie apocolypse

What do you guys think of Kalispell?  It seems like a lot of the tourist business we get are people coming into Costco from their vacation rental in Bigfork or they're  just passing through on their way to Whitefish.  I like Kalispell.  I understand that it is getting bigger and harder to navigate with drivers that are perhaps not used to sitting at a light or having to make speedy lane changes.  I understand that the geography of Bigfork and Whitefish are more conducive to summer activities but I feel like Kalispell gets a bad wrap.

I have felt for a long time now that being a part of Colter I am on the edge of something big.  We are growing, we have a certain atmosphere that is only attainable by a nearly perfect chemistry between regular customers and fresh blood and dedicated baristas.  Obvs, we have tasty, tasty brew.  And we're open to change.  I think this is a big one.  We've all heard the old adage that change is hard and takes adjustment and bla bla.  There is, of course, something to be said for the equally old adage of not always wanting to mix things up and that consistency is key.  I still insist that fresh air is vital and delicious.  All of that being said, I guess my point is that I really like the idea of Kalispell having a vibrant downtown and community involvement.  We have a huge farmer's market, locally owned shops on Main Street, lush parks and quiet, meandering neighborhoods.  I would love to see more activities within our community and not only have Kalispell be a stopover between one of the lakes in the valley.

There is the upcoming Huckleberry 100 which is a 100 mile bike ride.  Sounds like such a cool event.  There is always stuff going on at the Conrad Mansion or the Hockaday.  Kalispell's Taste of Kalispell is coming up this weekend.  I hope that people take part in these activites!  We will have a booth at Taste of Kalispell, so at least come see me and get a dinner's worth of samples from all the area businesses participating.  There are so many ideas to get Kalispell acquainted with it's residents and visitors and vice versa.  I've been brainstorming with Poppy, co-owner of Cobblestone Moon on 1st Avenue East, about how to bring a bit more life to Kalispell.  We're thinking of screening films in the lawn of her sweet little shop.  At least while the weather holds.  Perhaps the backroom of Colter after that?  We're thinking of getting a shop mob together.  Much like flash mobs but groups of people who all go to one locally owned and operated shop and purchase something.  Help the retailer boost sales for the day.  Perhaps choosing one day a month to meet up and shop.  Starting with a coffee and ending with ice cream or however it works out.  We have such great businesses and such great business owners.  I've gotten to know a lot of the proprietors in downtown and I can certainly vouch for the fact that these places are worth spending some time at.

What do you guys think?  How is our community?  Are you satisfied?  Would you like a tighter knit, more active community?

In the spirit of things, here is a joke


How many therapists does it take to change a lightbulb?

Just one but the lightbulb has to want to change.

Until we meet again.

Honey do's

Ohmigawd.  I have missed you all so much.  There is something so satisfying about the tip tip tappy of computer keys yet it is a task easily dismissed.

Today, though.  Today is the day, my friends and coffee lovers.  I am here to spread the gospel of Colter.  Of course, when I say "Colter," I mean stuff somehow related to Coltertopia and the people and events in our kingdom. There are only mere weeks left in our precious summer.  I don't know about y'all but I have a list.  It's really an impressive list of things to accomplish, "this summer."  If all were to go according to plan I would have a garden, a baby who knows how to sign, fresh mugs in the chop, t-shirts on the shelves, size 6 jeans on my booty, a magazine beating down my door begging me to do some freelance contributions, two new hires waiting in the bullpen all trained and ready to go, a new menu behind the counter and several other pipe dreams on the verge of fruition.  It just goes so fast.  My to-do list is much more lustrous than my done list but I've got some good seatmates next to me on this boat, amirite?

Instead of a garden I am planning to browse the Farmer's Market this evening and pick up some spinach to grind up for my baby who doesn't sign but whose chubby hands grab curiously at everything within reach. Mugs are on the way and they will be max rad.  Local artist, Nicole Johnson, is setting us up with a mix of her freshest glazes and loveliest handles.  T-shirts are the butt of many jokes around Coltertopia.
"Hey, why did the barista cross the road?"
"I dunno, why?"
"To get a t-shirt!  Baahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha Hoooeehahahahahahahahaha"

I don't get it either.  Someday new retail t-shirts will be more than a fantasy of mine and the butt of a dumb joke.  In the meantime I'm going to dream of American Apparel 25/25/50 V-necks with minimalist, hip images.  Swoon.  Same with the menu.  I see reclaimed barn wood-ish type material and white chalk.  Someday I also want mason jar light fixtures.  Double swoon.

Rather than a writer's magazine beating down my door I have customers and the Bossman requesting me to write this blog!  Right?  I mean, Slinging Lattes and Flashing Smiles totally counts.  As for new hires, I cast a line into the vast expanse of fbook and haven't received much input back.  If you happen to read the blog and aren't on fbook, our seasonal employees are on their way out soon and we are hoping to hire a career barista with a serious interest in this schtick.  I would love to hear from you if you're interested and think you would be a good fit in our quirky, lovable family.

Hopefully summertime is going along swimmingly for the rest of you in Coltertopia.  We're certainly doing alright.  Come say hey!

Finally, what does a nosy pepper do?

Get's jalapeño bid'nass!

May showers

Hello, strangers!

 Due to transitioning back into pulling shifts behind the coffee bar combined with an impending business trip to Dallas for the Head Cheese and me, BaristaGirl has been a bit lacking.  I do apologize.

We sure have been hustling around though! I hope you've been in lately to help us welcome the summer season. Everything is better in the summer, isn't it? I know most of us in this area are winter sports aficionados but come on. Last night I had sushi and a glass of wine with a girlfriend then went to split a Framboise down at city beach in Whitefish. We left the dock at 9pm and it was still light when I got home. Beat that.

 In downtown news, out of town business is picking up as well. Southern accents exclaim joy in not paying sales tax, or someone turns down a coffee card because they're, "just here on vacation." We love meeting the summer crowd. We especially love seeing a face from last summer or the summer before. Customers and baristas, we may not know much about one another, whether we have siblings or any allergies or what the other does for fun, but we have a mutual understanding of a shared experience we'd like to have again. The Colter experience. It's rad. I love sharing it. I say now that I love sharing it when I happen to be on this side of our upcoming trip where I'm going to have to share the Colter Experience with half of Dallas. We'll see what I have to say after that.

We had our Latte Art Competition on Sunday! It was fun! Changed it up a bit this year and offered some different options for spectators and competitors. A pour over bar, 5 Sparrows sampling table, affogatos, and general mingling with the crew. I look forward to continuing to tweak our approach and hope to have the house packed next year! I wanna nervously eye fire code capacity! From our in-house competition our veteran barista Brendarrrr took first place and runner up to her was Allison and the bronze went to Tazia. Out of house first place went to Montana Coffee Traders' lead barista, Matthew, second and third went to Hannah and Sarsten both from Ceres Bakery. So cool to see other area shops coming in to support the event. I have inklings of a combined effort and bigger draw in our futures. Personally, I thought the poem I wrote the night before and then posted as Colter's Facebook page status was gonna bring everybody in droves but apparently my poetry fell on deaf ears. Blind eyes? One of those.

I hope everyone has met and enjoys our newbies! We have a couple of seasonal baristas right now, those young and vibrant college youths who make us yearn to be back in those times of sleepless nights and whirring metabolisms. Yes, I'll have whipped cream with that! Anyway, Russ and Jessica are our new faces so come see them and try not to give them too hard of a time.

Also, starting this Friday, June 1st, we will be participating in First Friday! So come hear the musical stylings of Jarod Kearny and see the art of Alan Satterlee as you join the rest of Kalispell for a fun evening stroll around downtown! Keep on keepin on, y'all, I'll catch you on the flip side!

Have you missed me?

Boy. What a trip parenthood is. So far the best trip I've ever taken. I kind of have that feeling you get when you're more worn out from your relaxing vacation than you would be if you'd just stayed home. Had you just stayed home, however, you would have never gotten to touch that sting ray while snorkeling or experienced racing around in a dune buggy. I've been driving one crazy dune buggy with my little baby Jasper by my side. I'm sure the BaristaGirl blog will be peppered with babyphenalia from here on out so I wont go too overboard today.

I wanted to make sure no one forgot about us though! I miss the blog while I don't have a lot of material since I'm not in the shop as much right now as I used to be I still wanted to post. I happened to go in today, actually, which served a dual purpose of caffeinating (I swear that's how it's spelled.) me and inspiring me. I miss it. I miss the chaos, I miss watching downtown. Of course, I miss the chocolate chip mini cookies. Mostly I miss the customers. We wouldn't be Colter without our customers.

In fact, I had one of those endearing customer interactions today that on a day pre-Jasper would have sent me into a fit. Today I am slightly less hormonal, incredibly less pregnant and the sun is shining. Today, life is good. And then I run into Big Bob. Big Bob is an incredibly endearing 50something guy who always seems to be wearing tie-dye. Big smile, scratchy boom for a voice that sounds like gravelly molasses and he drives a hoopdee cruiser, driver's seat reclined, windows down. I pass him on my way to the bathroom and he grabs my hand, gives it a squeeze, tells me it's good to see me and then asks if I had my baby.

Well, yeah. Hence not being pregnant. I smile and point in Allison's direction. Upon my leaving the bathroom he tells me I make a good looking baby and gives my hand another squeeze. I go sit by the window and wait patiently for my americano amid the madness of Chai Chillers and Huckleberry Hurricanes that is School District #5 early release. Big Bob jumps up and comes to take a seat next to me presumably to talk more about how cute my baby is.

"Hey Jess, I don't wanna bother ya, but it's so funny... Wanna know what's funny?"
"Sure, Bob, lemme hear it."
"See," he starts to bite his knuckles and grin a little. I'm starting to look forward to hearing this, "for the longest time I couldn't tell if you were pregnant or just getting... you know... fatter and fatter. Hah! Isn't that a kick!"
Hilarious, Big Bob. Hi-freaking-larious. I then unwrap the stale mini-cupcake I had grabbed from the day old plate in the pastry case and eat the entire thing in one bite. Smiling through buttercream. I now remember why I hang out mostly with my child who doesn't speak and sees my excess as delicious, delicious lunch.

Which brings me to the link that I wanted to post as my entire blog in the first place. It's from the 1000awesomethings blog by Neil Pasricha. I recommend all the other 999 entries too but this one is especially awesome and prevalent to slinging lattes and flashing smiles.

Is this about you?

TTYL

Did you have the fever?

Twas two score and twelve weeks ago, in the clapboard and fiberglass land of Martin City that a cold wind blew. Men in animal skins cheersed to leather faced women and talked through gap teeth and Pall Malls. The 2011 annual Cabin Fever Days in Martin City had descended upon us.

My adventure partner, Grady, and I had high hopes of debauchery and entertainment. The Bar Stool Ski Races being the main attraction were certainly not to be missed and within the races my favorite was the self touted, "Born and Bred Canyon Stripper" who gyrated her way down Martin City Hill to the whoops and hollers of hundreds of drunk bystanders.

Needless to say, I took the day off from Colter. And the next day. We had a cabin rented in the canyon and were settled in to become one with the locals. Among the festivities are snowshoe baseball, an axe throwing competition, cursing contest, and an arm wrestling competition complete with the official table used by Sylvester Stalone in "Over The Top."

Grady signed me up. I didn't say no. I did order a few extra gin and sodas.

All of my tamping and milk jug lugging paid off. Did you know that this particular barista at your service is the 2011 Cabin Fever Days Women's Division arm wrestling champion? True story. I won 9 dollars, a key chain and whole lot of pride.

Check out my final battle below. The low, guttural, "DESTROY HER" command toward the end is Grady, my best pal and coach.




See that determination? That resolve?

I thought about going back to defend my title this last weekend. I do have a lot more weight to throw around this year. In the end I stayed home and made granola to send to my little brother so he'll stop eating those dang Pop Tarts at college.

At any rate, this post had next to nothing to do with coffee but it is a fond memory and a story the Head Cheese always enjoys and we thought y'all might enjoy it too.

From our headquarters to yours, Happy Friday.

So, how bout them Republicans?

I'm a political slacker. I try to be involved and informed but aside from what I get from Slate and other snarky and entertaining news sites I tend to be pretty laid back. I'm skeptical of all of our options but to be honest I haven't focused a lot of energy on researching all (or any of) the candidates. Even now as I watch/listen to Newt Gingrich's speech from the Florida Caucus, I can't help but be entirely distracted by his wife and her striking resemblance to Paris Hilton and The Joker's eldest daughter, Polly Esther. Then I get distracted again when I hear Newt quoting Honest Abe by saying, "...for the people, by the people..." and I just think of the brand FUBU (For Us By Us). Which then leads to me imagining Newt playing Woody Harrelson's role in White Men Can't Jump. Which obviously then reminds me of Wesley Snipes' performance in Blade and also Murder at 1600. Which brings us full circle. And I have absolutely no idea what Newt actually said. I feel a little better because I don't think his wife does either.

The coffee shop is a good resource for keeping up on current events. Someone is always talking about something. I get to hear all about the wolves and who wants to kill em and who wants to go Jungle Book with them. The social aspect has always been my favorite part of my job but I think I could also say it is one of my main sources of information on local and national, even global goings on. Of course, I can't take what you shlubs say as gospel, I need to do a little more research but y'all do definitely inspire more Google searches than you're probably aware of.

We've got some cool current events coming up in Colter, too. Even though we're not advertised on the posters, we are in fact participating in the Chocolate Affair next Friday. We'll be staying open late and offering out of the ordinary delicious treats such as truffles from The Palette Cafe in Columbia Falls among other foodies.

This coming Monday, of course, is stand up comedy/open mic night and if you haven't been in to be entertained you're definitely missing out.

Also, a current and ongoing affair, have you guys tried our Roaster's Reserves yet? I'm getting a ton of positive feedback so far so be sure you have a cuppa soon before it changes!

And now, a joke: Horse walks into a bar, bartender says, "why the long face?"

Ba-doom-cha!

And since that one was kinda lame, another. Brenda (or anyone who prefers to abstain from off color humor), stop reading here. This is not for you.

Three mice are sitting at a bar. They're pretty hard mice, you can tell by the looks of them. First mouse takes a big swig of his beer, slams it down, says to the other mice, "So get this. Every night old lady in the house sets a mouse trap. You know what I do? I bench press that stupid mouse trap. She's never seen my kinda mouse."

Other two mice nod, impressed. Second mouse, though, second mouse isn't going to let that go untopped. "Oh, yeah?" He says, "Well, from the time I was a young mouse I've sprinkled rat poison on my grapenuts every morning. Now I sprinkle it on all my kids' breakfast. Kinda start to like it after awhile. Toughest mice in town, my kids."

Other two mice nod, very impressed with the rat poison story. Third mouse puts his head down and shakes it a little bit, maybe in disbelief. He then finishes his beer, slides it down to the bartender pulls his hat on and marches out.

First mouse says, "What?! Can't take the heat? Getting out of the kitchen?!"
"Nah," third mouse says, "I'm going home to f*ck the cat."

And there you have it, folks. I'm spent. Time to go elevate my cankles.

Sopapillas

It's good to know I still retain some of my Spanish-speaking instincts. Yesterday amid all the SOPA/PIPA huff, I kept thinking people were talking about sopapillas. What's so bad about fluffy fried pastry drizzled in honey and powdered sugar? I mean, are we really gonna go all artery blockage police on a little dessert? My brain works in mysterious ways. For some reason a few weeks ago I had a phrase stuck in my head, every few minutes it would just float through my subconscious and trigger strange images. Wanna know what that phrase was? It was 'mutton bustin.' Go figure.

Back to SOPA/PIPA. Did y'all read about it? It makes me nervous to think that congress was considering limiting our online freedoms. I see where they are coming from with the piracy stuff, but aren't criminals going to be criminals and find a way around such legislation? It seems to me the real people to suffer will be you and I when we try to upload a funny photo to our Fbooks and we're blocked. What would I do if I weren't allowed to upload pictures of baby hedgehogs curled up in measuring cups? That's a big part of my day right there. I do have to split my time between the hedgies and really pedantic articles making fun of people with poor grammar and spelling. It's terrible, I know. It's my release. Yoga doesn't cut it for me I guess.

I was thinking about the internet and how much capability we have because of it and how truly revolutionary a thing it is. I opened an advertisement via Colter's Facebook page. The parameters I put on the ad made it so that it reached 34,653 people. Isn't that crazy?! 34,653 people that never would have known we exist. Of those 34,653 people Colter is now Facebook friends with 94 of them and I only opened it an hour ago. Jeesum crow. Those intarwebs shore is powerful.

Then I googled "coffee" to see what happens. Because internet search engines are powered by terms and also need to be powered by money all terms are up for sale. The word "coffee" will produce the highest bidder first. Sbux is apparently the highest bidder on "coffee." Big shocker, I know. But then scrolling down it gets a little deeper. You'll find something I'm sure Pete has an app for on his iPhone as well as the websites for Folgers and Gevalia. Of course the search yields 1,090,000,000 results. I don't even know how to say that out loud. As the pages go on and on the results get more convoluted. It really does go to show, however, that the internet is an incredible tool and it brings together so many people, industries, small business and hedge hog enthusiasts. It has revolutionized the coffee business, I know. Has it affected your industry?

Part of the reason I was brought into the position I hold is to take advantage of internet resources. I recently found a grant we may be able to apply for to get our baristas certified by the Barista Guild of America. How sweet would that be?! Albeit, incredibly nerdy but pretty sweet nonetheless. Plus, our coffee nerdiness is part of our charm, right?

Speaking of nerdiness. We have two new Roaster's Reserve coffees debuting today. We are going to be more regular with rotating our Roaster's Reserve and I have a hunch it's going to be on the monthly. The plan is that each showcased bean will be a single origin microlot. That sounds like Greek, I know. Basically it means that our RRs won't be blends (single origin) and will come from a very small and extra special batch of coffee (microlot). Prepare to be dazzled by Organic Papua New Guinea and Organic Brazil! I've only tried the Papua New Guinea and I liked it a lot. Light roast, buttery, a teeny bit lemony. The Brazil smelled amazing when it was being roasted and I look forward to trying it. I especially look forward to Brazil because I have a real thing for Central/South American coffees. They're like chocolate.

So, for today, come try our new coffee and appreciate freedom. And a joke:

Sherlock Holmes and Watson went camping. They pitched their tent under the stars and went to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night Holmes woke Watson up and said, "Watson, look up at the stars and tell me what you see." Watson replied, "I see millions and millions of stars" Holmes said, "And what do you deduce from that?" Watson replied, "Well, if there are millions of stars, and if even a few of them have planets, it's quite likely there are some planents like Earth out there. And it there are a few planets like Earth out there, there might also be life." And Holmes said, "Watson, you idiot, it means somebody stole our tent!"

Har. Har. Har.

I have an absolute favorite joke of all time. In my single days I would tell it as a conversation started with the fellas. It's a bit off color and has some swearing in it but if you come in understanding those truths and would like to hear it, ask me at the shop sometime and I'll make ya laugh.


For now, later.

So this is the new year

2012 is already a week old! Who moved a mountain this week?! I didn't actually move a mountain but I did win a sweet game of dominoes! Celebrating simple joys, ya know.

As life mellows out to a business as usual pace, we're still enjoying hustling and bustling at the shop. Now that the holidays have come and gone all the tasks I assigned myself to do, "once New Years is over," have jumped on my back. Busy is good though and it's shaping up to be a solid 2012 for Colter. Starting with new t shirts! Head Cheese sprung for the nice ones! Shout out to one of our very favorites, Chance, for talking him into the squishy squish 25/25/50 American Apparel blend (for at least one of this year's shirt styles). They really are better. I tell him these things but he just blames my blatant Libran qualities, smiles, nods, and asks about getting a quote on BeefyTees. If you see the Head Cheese in the shop would you please happen to loudly mention to your companion that you like your nipples too much to have them be chafed off by a BeefyTee? I've already won the battle but this is a war on frugality. Some things are just worth paying for. Decorative throw pillows? You can probably get those at ShopKo and leave Pier1 out of it. If you try to go to Target for a pair of jeans that you want to make your ass look like the gal's at Fawn Boutique you're in for an unpleasant surprise. Speaking of determining when to spend money for quality versus spending money on pointless shit, on Colter's Facebook Newsfeed this morning there was a Jimmy Choo coffee holder for $175. No one ever needs a $175 coffee sleeve. Really, no one should need a sleeve. It is a convenience some prefer but should not be listed as a basic necessity requiring fulfillment. If you are considering in investing in a piece such as this, call me immediately. I have many other ways to spend $175. Finally, toothbrushes. Get the nice one.

Anyway, back to t shirts and Colter projects. We're actually going to have a couple of shirts to sell this year and with our fancy pants new website and online shop (www.coltercoffee.com) we can sell them online and hopefully actually sell some this year! Be on the lookout, we should be debuting our first 2012 Colter shirt in early February. It says "naked" on it if that blows any whistles.

I'd like to start seeing some reader/customer participation on the blog. I know my opinion and I know how I'd like to run the world (namely, the coffee shop) but I'd really like some input on how we're doing and I feel like this is a good forum for that. So, starting now I'm gonna ask a question in each entry that will help me tweak the goings on at Colter and fix the stuff SweetiePete is screwing up. Don't worry, I blame him for everything.

So, to kick it off and carry on with the theme of today's entry; would you wear a Colter shirt? In my head we are definitely a hip enough spot to be represented by a tee and people obvs are gonna wanna represent us in said tee. I don't always live in reality though, so help me out. A super soft, trendy and even a little edgy tee shirt. Yay or nay?

See you next week. Or tomorrow! Whichever comes first. Sundays always bring a lot of people so I'm sure I'll have stories abounding for the next entry.

Hasta pasta

And, we're back.

The holidays are drawing to a close. If you're a celebrating type I hope you had a bright and cheerful Christmas and if you're not into holidays I hope bright and cheerful still describes your days.

At the shop we have been sa-lammin. No school, college kids in town, family visiting, people on vacation. These people all want coffee, not to mention our regulars. It makes for a rather hectic workday but the days fly by and we still manage to have some fun. Apparently no one besides us has to work, everyone comes in to visit instead!

First Night Flathead is coming up tomorrow, I sure hope everybody comes to catch some tunes. We have advance sale buttons at a discounted price up until the festivities begin. Live music til about 11pm and we'll be open til midnight. Ring in the New Year with us! If Tazia is around at the stroke of midnight I'm sure she'll plant one on ya. We like to call her Mother Earth.

Because it's been so busy lately and we interact with so many people, we are often inundated with questions, comments, conversations, etc. Sometimes it's hard to keep our game faces on. I'm sorry if you've even been on the receiving end of a look of unabashed surprise from me or anyone else. Recently, although I wasn't working, I know I dished one out without meaning to. I was looking all sorts of a hot mess this particular day. We're talking no shower, sweatshirt, hair half pulled back, grungetastic. Perhaps I shouldn't have been in public but I wasn't planning on being in public for long. I met a few girlfriends at the chop to go for a walk and it was insane-o busy, per usual. Walking out, I got stopped by a customer, Henrietta, to say hello. She asked me when I was due to which I replied,
"Oh man. Comin' right up. I'm looking at another 8 weeks."
"Well, I can see it all over your face that you're ready to be done." I know that sentiment such as this comes from a good, best interest at heart place but it's kind of like hearing, "Dang, girl. You look tired! Did you maybe get hit by a car recently? Or do you just take no pride in your appearance? Maybe that's it. The no pride thing."
I responded by saying, "Oh, you know. Thankfully I've had a really easy go of it. Eight months pregnant is not the most comfortable thing no matter which way you look at it, I guess."
"Yeah, yeah, I mean, like I said, I can just see that you are totally over it. At least you're not THAT fat."
Hokay. At this point I imagine I looked like Teddy Ruxpin who had just been told his Teddy Mother got chewed by a Shar Pei Chow mix.

Word to the wise. Just don't say the word 'fat' ever. Even if there is a negative in front of it, ie: not fat, just leave it out entirely. Weight is something women, especially pregnant women aren't into being publicly criticized about. If you do have an urge to comment on the fatness or not that fatness of an individual stop yourself and just say, "lemontree" a few times instead. People might look at you strangely but there will be no obsessing. Granted, I'm sure Henrietta had no ill intent but she probably didn't think about the ripple effect either. I've been wearing scarves everyday since(rather than just a few times a week) to try and hide any extra chins.

How sweet it is to undergo a significant body change under public scrutiny. Bubbles better be cute as hayl is all I've gotta say.

Later sk8r.

Satisfaction and moral fiber.

I've been getting good feedback re: the blog! This is good news! It means the Head Cheese is less inclined to make me blog on my own time. I am currently a paid blogger. This is very rare in the blogosphere (I don't know that HC knows the rarity of it though. Let's keep that just between us). It's nice to be complimented not only because it means Colter's stock is going up each time someone clicks but it also makes me less inclined to mutter an expletive when I write a student loan check. So, thank you all for inflating my ego and validating my exorbitantly expensive private school English degree.

This isn't exactly what I thought I would be doing as I stumbled into my comprehensive exam, haggard and harrowed. Four (oh, fine, five) years of advisors, heavy text books, sleepless nights, ass kissing and paper writing culminated into me slinging lattes and flashing smiles. I sat on one side of a 30 chair conference table while the Spanish department sat on the other listening to me draw comparisons between the house featured in the magical surrealism novel, Aura, by Carlos Fuentes to a uterus and the hallways of the house to a birth canal. Not kidding. You try talking about human reproduction via general construction in Spanish. And convincing a senile Peruvian and bitchy gay Spaniard that you're worthy of a degree of higher education in their beloved native tongue. While serving up an americano I'm often asked what's next for me, if I'm ever going to go to school or if perhaps my degree is already in progress. Not only is it already in progress, been there, done that. Time of my life. I've gotten to a place within Colter that I actually get to use my degree. Well, the English part of it. The Spanish part I'm working on. Don't tell HC but we'll be opening a SoCal location soon. I'll be spearheading the operation as the gringo liaison. But as for the question askers, I guess it's hard to believe that a 20something of seemingly above average intelligence and tenacity would settle for a barista position.

Thing is, guys. I love my job. Job satisfaction is not something that's easy to come by. If you have job satisfaction, keep a hold on it. Even if you think you oughtta be making more scrilla, if you wake up and generally enjoy going to work thank da lawd (if you're into that sort of thing) and certainly keep going to work. Eventually you might get the folding chair at the folding table up against a wall with no windows and an hourly rate in the double digits! That's not entirely true. When the Head Cheese goes to get lunch I steal his rolly chair and put it at my folding table. And I get commission. All because I loved this place enough to stick it out. That and I got a little tipsy at bingo one night with the Head Cheese and told him he was crazy not to promote me and if he didn't want to give me more responsibilities and make me feel like I'm doing something I'd take my resources and enchanting smile elsewhere. No shit. Tazia was there. I doubt I would have ever acted on it but after a few IPAs it seemed like a just and impassioned tirade. Next thing I knew I'm holding a formerly nonexistent position and getting business cards printed and torturing the credit card. Never hurts to ask and being able to do something you love is definitely worth the wait.

My office job portion of the performance helps with job satisfaction in that I feel important and accomplished. Otherwise I still love being behind the counter. In a post Bailey world my favorite to work with is Brenda. Granted, she scared the shit out of me when I first met her but over time we forged a bond and I just love coming to work on Tuesday morning when I know I get to work with Brenda. Or Monday morning with Tazia. I am trying to figure out a way to actually place a blue ribbon winner on one of them and the only logical method I've come up with is for them to jello wrestle, winner takes all. I'll include a trophy and frame a piece of paper that says their favorited credentials above the paper towels at the shop. Keep an eye out. Maybe I'll put the actual bout on YouTube. Without workplace harmony I imagine life would suck and the truth is we have a pretty rad team. Hopefully you can taste the love in the crema.

Enough with the hippy dippy peace and love shit. Work is work, it builds character. If you don't love your job today you should probably still go tomorrow. We're in a recession.

Speaking of character building. Kids these days. Where is their character?! I went to the school of hard knocks for character building seeing as how I spent a significant portion of my young adulthood pushing 260. You don't go through high school and college obese without developing a work ethic and a sense of humor because you certainly aren't skating by on sex appeal in this society. I know not everyone can have a coming of age, skin thickening, heartstring tugging story about being respectful and cognizant of the value of a dollar, but still. Some of these hoodlums that come slinking up to my counter are true spectacles. One of my favorites was a 15ish year old girl recently. Not to pass judgement on her because I don't know her very well but she didn't look like she spent her afternoons volunteering at any soup kitchens. But, like I said, let's not judge. Bailey didn't look like a choir girl either and she remains one of my all time faves. Anyway, let's call this one Diamond. Diamond walks in, thumb holes ripped in her exaggeratedly oversized sweatshirt cuff, heavy lined eyes and wearing one of those fat hemp necklaces with the blown glass pendant with a multicolored shroom inside. Probably on a coffee run for her fellow student councilors. At the counter she orders a large coffee but only half full (I later find out the other half will be filled with creamer and sugar). I half fill her coffee and as I turn back to charge her I see her hand in my tip jar. She quickly pulls it most of the way out and just rests it on the rim instead. Seeing my inquisitive eyebrow raise she starts to say something. I assume to explain herself or make an excuse why it appeared that she was stealing my tip money. Instead I got the following:

"Has anyone ever, like, ran off with your tip jar?"
Completely taken aback at the thought of it I stutter, "uhh. Well. No. Err... yeah, no."
"Huh. Funny. I mean, what are you going to do about it? Chase them?" She says, her tone challenging.
Composing myself, not to be intimidated by 15-year-old moral Gumby I say, "Heck yeah, that's a significant chunk of my income right there."
"Huh. Funny," she repeats, "'cause probably whoever takes it is hoping you'll chase them and has someone here to knock over the cash register as soon as you get out the door. Then you're fucked, now aren'tcha?"
After I picked my jaw up I managed, "I guess I just hope most people wouldn't think of doing such a thing."

I had no better comeback. Well I did, but it involved shin kicking and references to the obscene lack of willingness to work amid the young punk dope scene and how when I was a kid you got up on Saturday morning to help with the chores and milk the cows and banish the pack rats from the barn. We might not have had cows or pack rats but you get my drift. Kids these days. I will certainly not be able to raise a cherub but Bubbles will also never threaten to steal a tip jar or he gets to sleep in the barn with the pack rats.

It's funny how much more than slinging lattes and flashing smiles my job really is.

Peace, y'all.

It's Thursday?!

Holy potatoes. Do you ever feel like you're only either getting into or out of bed? Days just fly by. I guess scarce daylight is a contributing factor as well as being busy. Good thing too. Idle hands do the devil's work, ya know. How else do you think I got knocked up?

Speaking of, some people have no filter. They just say whatever is on their mind. As a customer service representative we have to swallow a certain amount of bullshit and keep smiling. Riding sidecar has not only lowered my bullshit tolerance but it has also increased the amount of bullshit people feed me. For some reason every pregnant woman needs to hear the 95 theses of proper child bearing and rearing. Good thing I have Pete to take it out on, otherwise paying customers might suffer.

I once had a woman notice my baby bump and said,
"Oh my! Are you pregnant?"
I replied, "I am!" with my trademark big smile.
She continued on to ask, "Are congratulations in order?"
"...well... yeah? I mean, I'm thrilled about it."
Perfectly matter-of-factly she narrowed her eyes a bit and asked, "So, then, you're not worried about over population?"

Welp. I guess not.

Seriously. Who are these people? Say that behind my back to your friend as you're leaving. Don't say it to my face.

(The following is a non sequitur but we'll pretend it's a segue [I had no idea segue was spelled like that until writing this entry. Now I know!] in regards to calling people on their shit.)

Before the days of babies and swollen ankles were the days of PBFs. Pretend Boyfriends. We all had several. Well, Bailey and I each had at least a half dozen and the rest of the girls maybe had one. If you have been a Colter fan for awhile you hopefully had the pleasure of getting to know Bailey. If you got to know her you can imagine that her PBFs all had highlighted hair, tanning punch cards and bedazzled back pockets on their jeans. Give her a dude in a too tight Ed Hardy shirt and she could hardly focus on pulling shots. She would check her face in the silver tamper on the machine, tousle her hair and scrunch her boobies up toward her chin

These PBFs gave us something to look forward to and usually due to our grace and tenacity, or lack thereof, something to laugh about later. I got the biggest red faced laugh of all one day last fall.

First of all, you have to hear about The Original. The Original was the first ever PBF, the reason this whole legacy came about. He is tall, kind, and curly haired. My home run of characteristics. I could never keep myself together when he came in. I muttered, dropped cups, talked too fast, laughed thickly. I was a typical 12 year old girl at an n'Sync concert circa their 2001 PoPOdyssey tour.

We all know about my imagination by this point so I hope you can please connect the following dots. Him saying hello and asking how I was on a given day turned into him being such a caring PBF and being truly concerned with my well being when I later recounted interactions back to Brenda. He once floated by my house in fishing boat and hollered at the shore that my wave runner was floating away. Swoon. Of course, according to my accounts, The Original was not conducting a guided fly fishing tour on the Flathead River, he came to see me. And then saved my life and property from dire peril! By this measure we hung out all the time and he was a hero all the time.

By happenstance we once were invited to the same wedding. One day when we were hanging out [read-he came in to get a vanilla latte] I asked him if he was going. He gave a wishy washy maybe response to. I told him what color my dress was so he could coordinate. Magenta. By this point any semblance of shame or dignity I had was reserved for other PBFs who didn't turn me into a pile of trendy clothes and goo over by the bulk coffee. He chuckled and said he would keep that in mind and carried on.

He left me at the altar. Well, he left me a few rows behind the altar on the bride's side. When, upon our next date and his next vanilla latte, I asked where the camel and pink pinstripe button up was to my magenta halter jersey knit dress. He told me he had something else going on. It was over. I knew it, he knew it. I would always love him but it was time.

I sadly recounted my tale to Brenda. How lovely it was when he came to my house, the musical montage of the progression of our relationship. Daisy chains and all that mushy gushy romcom shit. I may have been talking a little loud behind the counter I suppose but I was distraught!


The Original came in the next day.

"Hey, Jesse. I have a bone to pick with you."
"Me?!" I flushed red and clutched my hands over my sternum to brace myself for the blow.
"Yeah, you think you can just break up with me?!"
Ohmygawd. What. Shit. What?
"Heh. Hah. Um."
"I really thought we had something and then I have a friend tell me that you told Brenda we were through before you even told me!"

I swear this really happened. He later explained that a friend approached him and asked how she never knew that he was dating the blond Colter girl. I told Brenda a convincing enough story that this eavesdropping girl actually thought I was dating The Original and that he had bailed on a wedding we were supposed to go to together after saving my life from the river monster. Thankfully The Original had a sense of humor and recognized my eccentricities.

I talk too much. And too loud. You would think I would have learned my lesson after we had an employee meeting regarding a story I told the Head Cheese about a night in Mexico and a back alley high speed chase in Volkswagen and our savior in spandex on roller skates.

I should try to remember that I work in public and that there is no soundproof barrier between the pastry case and my mouth.

And, I know I'm a creepy dork.

I hope you all go in tomorrow (Friday) to take in Glitter and Lights theme day! Should be a trip!

I need some coffee.

If you only knew

I wish I could tell you all the crazy schemes we're concocting at CCR headquarters. You will know soon enough, my precious. It will all become clear. The light at the end of the tunnel, the unveiling of really cool stuff, is what keeps me calm in light of frustrating emails, defective goods, miles of red tape and East Coasters who think Montanans are snaggle toothed, slack jawed idiots. Maybe someday I'll take you guys to the edge of the precipice so you can check out what we're diving into. It's worth Dominic in New Jersey thinking it takes all 14 of my brain cells to operate a cell phone, I just have to keep calm and carry on. Could be worse, I could be from New Jersey.

I thought I would take a break from Excel spreadsheets and shipping terms to tell you all a story! I've put a similar disclaimer on a previous story but for any newbies I want to repeat and expand a little on something. I love my job. I love people. I've tried to office job it 9-5 M-F and I mostly wanted to punch myself in the face. I can't not be around people. It's just that... some people... well, some people make for good stories. How about that? When I share something on the blog the characters are amalgamations (how's that for slack jawed, Dominic?!) of a few different interactions, or a few characteristics pulled from several customers. These touches make for a much better story and also protects the innocent (albeit bizarre) people I am writing about. Technically, by mixing a little of George with a little of Ron and a pinch of Nancy I am making an entirely new character and no one can be offended, right? That's what helps me sleep at night, anyway. Basically I want to say, please don't get your panties in a bunch and worry that I'm talking about you or something you did. I'm not. Probably.

Anyway. We have this real pain in the ass come in every once in awhile and nothing is ever quite good enough. Occasionally pleasant, always mumbling, inevitably frustrating and obviously single for a reason besides the male pattern baldness; Harry likes things just so. He has a habit of starting to say something and shaking his head while turning his body as he completes the sentence. As I mentioned above homeboy is a chronic mumbler so combine that with the shake and turn and communication points are entirely moot. He, of course, wants a response though and will go as far as to do the eyebrow raise/open hand gesture/"hmmmm?" thing to get you to say something back. Sometimes I tell him I completely agree, sometimes I say I dunno, sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I look at him as though he has just said something so profound and interesting that I might go back to grad school and write my thesis on it. I once had to break up a fight between Harry who is a flaming democrat and another older gentlemen who is staunchly republican. I finally said enough when from one end of the store Harry yelled, "If you believe that load of shit you're probably going to tell me next that you rode a unicorn here with pinwheels for eyes." Ohhhhkay, Harry. It's time for a timeout. We're all friends here, all the man said was that he found Reagan to be a charismatic leader.

And that's Harry. Don't get me wrong, I like him well enough. He's just a bit of a pain in the ass. Aren't we all?

Harry comes to get himself a big americano and work on his computer for awhile one day recently. He happened to come in right at the after school rush so the upstairs was packed with chai chillers and strawberry smoothies. After collecting his americano he shuffled downstairs to work in peace. Or so he thought.

Our downstairs closes at 6pm, if you weren't aware of that. Whenever the second person is getting off shift they close it up down there so that the store closer doesn't have to maintain two levels of service. We're good but we still don't wanna. At about 5:55 I head down to start closing down on this particular evening. I first approach two men in the corner by the door and tell them it's time to start heading upstairs. They collect their stuff and mosey so I head toward Harry, who happens to be the only other person in the basement.
"Hey, Harry --" I start, he has headphones in. At this point he cuts me off by waving my words away with one hand and pulling his earphones out with the other.
"Yeah, yeah. I already heard you." He grunted at me. Well, fine then. Excuse me for being courteous and not just hollering a 2 minute warning down the stairwell before locking any poor bastards who didn't hear me in the dark scary basement.
Maintaining my cheerful demeanor I tell him I'll see him upstairs as soon as he gets his stuff packed up and continue on my way up. Before I can escape his drivel I hear from behind me, "What, by the way, is that awful smell?"

First of all, as we have already discussed, I am riding sidecar. As a pregnant woman my sense of smell is incredible. I am a grizzly sow to his mere human capacity olfactory. The basement smells like a basement. Cold, a little damp, not a lot of air circulation. I suppose we could install a fan. I wouldn't say it's offensive, I would say it smells like a basement. And I would know.

"Smell, Harry?" I ask, heading back toward his vicinity.
"Yes. It's horrific. It makes me feel as though I am going to be ill. I thought I could take it but the longer I sat down here the worse it got. It's positively disgusting."
"Oh, wow. I'm really sorry to hear that. I'm not sure I smell what you smell, and I don't know what could have caused that. I sure hope there isn't something moldy or--"
He cuts me off again to say, "No. It smells like someone used the bathroom down here. Right here!" And he points to the ground near his feet.

Seriously? Did you really just tell me that you think someone shit in the basement? Areyoufuckingkiddingme? Get out. Just leave.

Rather than spouting what came to my mind I found my inner diplomat and said, "Well, Harry, there is always the back room in the upstairs. I know it was full up there but the back room usually has--," this is cutoff number 3 now.
"I don't want to sit in the backroom because if I put my laptop on the table I have to lean too far to reach it and if I put it on my lap the screen slants and I can't see comfortably." He explains this to me in a similar tone to the tone Dominic in New Jersey uses to ask me how my snaggle teeth are feeling.

Well shit, Harry. Your life is just too damn hard. I bet heading over to Darfur would be like vacation compared to what you go through here in the Colter Coffee Undergrounds.

I finally tell him I have to head back upstairs and leave without consoling him further for our terrible smelling, unsuitable seating place of business.

Also, everybody who reads, come in this weekend for the art sale we're having in the rank smelling basement! A few local potters and a jewelry designer will set up shop downstairs and have a bunch of beautiful wares for you to decorate yourselves with! Beginning Friday afternoon and going through Sunday. Be extra sure to come in during the Art Walk on Friday evening. Shop local!

Until next time.

Imaginative customer service.

First, let me just say: I love gmail. I pushed send on an email to a tshirt guy just a moment ago and a window popped up saying, "you have typed 'I have attached' in your message but there are no attached files. Would you like to attach one now?" Holy smarty pants. Yes, gmail. I would. And thank you for remembering. What will they think of next?

Related, the email I was sending was a bid request because I am trying to get new shirts for the chop. If you see Head Cheese wandering through feel free to drop a hint that you would totally wear a swanky new Colter shirt. My bug in his ear doesn't quite cut it.

Anyway. I have a vivid imagination. When it was still socially acceptable I played entirely in made up lands. My younger brother was the only one I ever let come along. We had a blast. It is my nature to create worlds in my head, the only difference is that now I don't live in them, I just tell stories about them. Worlds with rather ordinary plot lines, some based on actual facts, some entirely fictional, all believable enough. It is how I pass my days. It really helps on days I forget my iPod when I go see Jim. Who needs music when there is a sweaty drama playing out before your very eyes?! The coffee chop is another place that is rife with material...

So, there is this couple, Daisy and her husband, Laz. They are an elderly couple, probably close to 80. Daisy always holds onto the tips of her fingers and speaks softly. Laz always has on plaid and a belt buckle. Daisy and Laz come into Colter several times a week, she orders, he pays. A regular latte for him and a decaf latte for her. A milk chocolate bar between them, they sit quietly and enjoy their afternoon ritual. I think they've been married so long that sitting in silence is comfortable and happy. Awhile ago they started coming in less and less. Sometimes Daisy came in and picked up drinks to go. It was evident on the occasions that they came in together that Laz's appearance had been withering. He was much skinnier, purply age spots splattered his skin and a yellowish tinge hung below his eyes. He never came up to the counter and their stays at the coffee shop became briefer and briefer. Eventually they didn't come in at all.

You see, Laz had been battling cancer. He lost his battle and left Daisy a widow. I shared the sad news with everyone behind the counter and we all hung heavy heads and slumped shoulders at the thought of it. After a few months Daisy began coming in every few weeks or so. Getting her decaf latte, sometimes a hot chocolate, sipping it by the window. Once I saw her at the grocery store. I became so overwhelmed by the sadness of it all that I choked up. She had spent decades cooking for her family. Now? Dinner for one. As I drove away from Rosauers that day I made several phone calls. Daisy was a good reminder for me to give a shout out to the top of my list. The whole mess hit me pretty hard.

Then, one day, Laz rose from the dead! He strolled into Colter still looking skinny but certainly looking alive! Alive enough to drink a latte and share a chocolate bar with his bride. He, in fact, hadn't died! Perhaps he hadn't been feeling well. Perhaps the slouchy economy had hindered his desire to spend a Hamilton unnecessarily. Whatever the reason, I had completely made up this man's death. Kinda like Tupac (yeah, I'm still waiting). He's alive and well, I saw him last week. I guess Daisy wasn't shopping for one. They just must eat less than me.

I learned my lesson. I quit sharing my stories aloud.

But then these two Russians walked into my life. They're two brothers amid a pile of other Russian siblings and they are the only family members in the States. These two, Donny and Josh (they obviously picked out their unassuming American names on the boat ride over), come in a coupla times a week. Josh, the bigger one always ordered. He never said much but communicated the necessary information and smiled and headed to the back room where he and Donny sat on their computer and skyped with their family in the motherland. Once Josh came in wearing a US Army fatigue jacket. Either this boy is really delving head first into his newly minted patriotism and joined our military or he is shopping strictly at thrift stores so he can send money back to the pile of siblings. Either way, what a guy, eh?!

Josh speaks some English, Donny doesn't speak any. He still engages enthusiastically with body language, and smiles and laughs wherever it seems appropriate to him. I took to these boys, we bonded. They even learned my name! Such lovely brothers, doing whatever they had to do to help the family. As we became friendlier I grew continually more impressed with their vocabulary. Turns out that Donny did speak a little English! Quite a bit actually. I learned more about them with each visit. Both Donny and Josh are expecting babies of their own although their baby mamas come with some drama. One baby mama has multiple babies and therefore other baby daddy drama. They both are pretty into hip hop.

I also learned that they are from Cleveland originally. Cleveland, Ohio. Ohio... Russia... Same difference?

Maybe I should focus more on cleaning than spinning story threads.

One last quickie:

I knew this wasn't true the entire time I was scheming it up but I still went with it for a good laugh. This will be most enjoyable if you know our Queen Bee, Brenda.

Brenda has obligations outside of Colter so she cannot work more than 20 hours a week unless there are extenuating circumstances. Recently we had a changing of the guard and new management was put into place and new hires are speckled behind the counter. While facilitating a smooth transition Brenda had to work more than her normal schedule.

This woman also happens to be incredibly anal organized. She has a step by step photo documented procedure for tying the garbage bags in case anyone has any questions. We also learned how to squish cardboard soy containers for most efficient use of space in the garbage courtesy of the Queen Bee. It should come as no surprise that she manages her finances impeccably. Every cent is documented in her Quickbooks and at the beginning of the month she inputs her projected income and debits her expenses so even though a bill isn't due for a week and a half, it appears as though that money has already been taken out of her account.

Picture this. Brenda, at the end of the month after having to work almost double what she normally accounts for, has almost double the cash she's accustomed to! What does she do? She throws caution to the wind and gets a ghetto blaster, a grill (the kind rappers put in their mouths, not the kind suburbia puts on their decks), and some Kanye shades and cruises Kali in her 1981 Oldsmobile Cutlass Sierra with Boots (the cat) chillin in the red velvet passenger seat. Definitely makes it rain on the people waiting at the crosswalk. In slo mo, flashin the grill. Yeahhhhh Boieeee.

Now you know what I do at work all day, what keeps y'all distracted at work?

I just love this.

There is an epidemic of the Hipster Barista out there. Beware. They thrive in standoffish and snobby settings such as coffee shops in upper middle class Seattle neighborhoods. If you have been infected by the anti charm of the Hipster Barista don't worry. The symptoms are not life threatening and will subside as long as you leave the presence of the infectious creature. Definitely do not tip and try not to strangle the HB with their ultra hip scarf. Lastly, certainly don't let them get to you. They're assholes.

Coffee Snobs from Frankie Shaw

So there I was...

The following is a story loosely based on actual events.  Names have been changed in order to protect the innocent (even if said innocent are a bit brutish [truth be told I don't know the brutish one's name in the first place]).


So there I was, milk pitchers on the left of me, thirsty cups on the right.  John, down on my end of the counter, waited for his cappuccino and we chatted idly.  As a multitasking barista at your service I kept one ear on the transaction occurring at the register to catch any drink nuances.  I didn't catch much but I did get bla bla dietary restrictions bla green tea.  She paid her dollars and carried on toward the end of the counter.  Within earshot she overheard my conversation with John which was focused on hemp milk at this point.

Let me take a moment to tell you how I feel about hemp since I'm sure you're dying to know.  Hemp is a really cool plant.  I have some hemp lip balm, hemp yarn to make a loufa, and a few items of hemp clothing.  I even like to sprinkle hemp seeds on my salads for a dose of healthy fats and protein.  It is a super diverse and sustainable resource.  Hooray for hippies.  I don't love hemp milk.  In fact, I don't really like it at all.  I certainly appreciate that we offer it but I would never choose it.  I have a very scant amount of dairy in my life and typically opt for the beautiful simplicity of a black Americano.  Hemp milk doesn't steam well, it's not creamy, it has a grainy texture and it coagulates if poured into hot coffee.  I don't really want coagulated anything in my mouth, naw'msayin?  I think hemp milk takes a dedicated person.  A person who yearns for some semblance of a latte but will swell up and go into anaphylaxis  if they drink milk, this is the someone who should choose hemp.  More power to the hemp drinkers, though, they are getting way more nutrition in their hemp latte than I am in my black Americano.

I digress.  So, John and I are chatting about hemp milk and Maleficent (let's call her Molly for short) displays an excited gesture and interrupts, "You have hemp milk?!"
"Heck yeah!" I respond, sharing her excitement.  While I don't love hemp milk the way she obviously does, I do have some characteristics of a St. Bernard puppy and like to wag my tail when someone shows interest in something I've said or done.
"Oh my goodness, if I would have known that I would have ordered it!  I love hemp milk!"
I had just finished up John's order and Molly's green tea was next.  I passed John's cap down to him and told Molly that I could switch her order, no problem as I hadn't started her drink yet.  Rather than a simple, "great, thanks" she proceeded to narrow her eyes as a storm furrowed on her brow.
"The thing is," she started, in a low, solemn voice, "milk is disgusting."
John, the jolly jokester that he is, had just finished sprinkling raw sugar atop the mound of creamy foam on his cap to create a melty, sugary mass a la creme brulee.  Molly made the disgusting milk comment as he dipped a finger into the sweet goodness and as he slurped the foam off his finger with a cocked head and a wide grin he asked, "how can you say this is disgusting?!"
Unfazed by the bliss that Dairy had bestowed unto John, Molly continued, "It is!  It's disgusting.  Soy is bad too.  You," she accused, "are drinking pus.  Dead, rotting pus."
At this point I intervened to say that perhaps we should have this conversation elsewhere.  Say, anywhere else where dairy isn't the primarily traded good.  That dead, rotting pus is lining my pockets and buying booties for Bubbles, lady!  I didn't say the last part.  I understand there are a lot of politics in the dairy world.  The outbreak of extremely well endowed 13-year-olds of the early 2000s caused an uproar and we saw the decline of rBST, now we are seeing an influx of all sorts of alternatives, less tinkered with and easier on our digestives.  I get it.  In fact, I subscribe to it.  Almond milk?  Can I get a hell yes?  Still.  I'm not one to call milk dead, rotting pus in a coffee shop.  To a dude not only drinking but thoroughly enjoying a dairy to the gills beverage.

She continued on her rant in an effort to share the truth of the evils of milk long after I had passed her hemp decaf unsweetened pumpkin latte along to her.  It was hard to disguise my confusion and downright what-the-eff-ness as she turned red in the face while vehemently recounting a terrible tale of her son being fed crackers and juice at a local preschool.  For shame.

I think homegirl would have popped a hemorrhoid if I'd opened the fridge and she'd seen shelves upon shelves of whole, 2%, and skim gallons of milk, heavy whipping cream and that evil bastard, eggnog.

I get it, we have to stand for something.  We all live our own lives, absolutely, and we are all entitled to feed ourselves and share with our families that which we believe to be most healthy.

Maybe just take it down a notch.

It's time.

Colter needs a blog.  I know all you people crave the dish as much as the shots, suffice it to say coffee gossip salvation has arrived.  This is the place for you to come and get the low down on what's happening at your favorite coffee shop.  So now you can stop lurking at the edge of the counter by the machine and you can do all your Colter lurking from the comfort of your own computer screen.  But I'm not going to install a webcam so don't ask.  And if you were planning on asking maybe get a hobby.

I will warn you, Head Cheese has given me some liberties with this blog.  It certainly wont be raunchy but my sense of humor can lean on the inappropriate side.  Put it this way, Pete and I are cut from very different cloths.  I curse like a sailor but I will try to rein that in.  Consider yourselves disclaimed.  If you can take a few dirty jokes and an occasional four letter word and like stories about the bizzaro world of customer service you've come to the right place.

A lot of my time is now spent at a computer making phone calls that start with, "Hi it's BaristaGirl with Colter Coffee..." and then proceeding to talk about new accounts, art for mugs, t shirt designs, other behind the scenes stuff.  I like it very much but I miss all you crazies.  I hope this blog will be mutually beneficial so I can memorialize the good times and you guys can get a chuckle while I'm at it.

Right now we are seeing the end of an era.  Heather and her husband, BJ, are moving.  Heather's last day behind the counter is Friday, everyone needs to stop in and see her for sure!  When she first told me that she was leaving Colter my response was, "so, are we closing?".  I truly cannot envision this company without her.  I know we'll adjust and we'll be fine but she will certainly be missed and thought of often.  Especially when something goes wrong.  Who we gonna call?!  She has seen it all around this joint.  From the dude in the wheel chair, speeding by hocking loogies on our window and screaming about the resistance to the adolescents with matching hairstyles in different shades of Lisa Frank with each others hands down the others pants.  Seriously?  It's a coffee shop.  Do what the rest of us did and hold hands until you can find the backseat of a Camry.  Even as she is seeing it all, Heather is pretty damn tactful and mellow.  She could be freaking out under the surface and we'd never know.  Homegirl is the master of cool.  Hats off to the lady who taught me how to pull shots, run a tight ship, and be an employee.  Not only will we miss her as a manager, we'll all miss her as a great fwend too.  Aw dangit, now I'm gonna get emotional.  I blame Bubbles.

Speaking of, I think you all should be familiar with Bubbles by now but in case you're not, Bubs is the fetus.   If you hadn't guessed who authors the blog by now, pregnancy ought to be a dead ringer.  Only one of us is riding sidecar.  I'm still gonna go by my blog name though cause it makes me feel special and it distinguishes me from SweetiePeetie who will also be publishing every once in a while.  Head Cheese told me I had to play nice and let him go coffee geek on you guys.  Don't worry, he won't know if you scroll right through his paragraphs on roast levels and variances of notes among different singles origins we offer.  That shit is boring.  I make my living off of and love coffee and even I realize that shit is boring.  SweetieP still wants to stroke his geekgo and share his vast knowledge so whateva. Blog away, dude.

After much ado, here is the blog.  Check back often as I hope to publish at least once a week.  It's time for Manfriend and I to go to our ultrasound appointment.  Fingers crossed for a happy, healthy (boy) baby!

Shout out to Heather!