I love my job.
Today a woman asked me if I liked working at this cafe and I told her I loved it. I told her that watching the sunrise over the ocean each morning was the greatest way to start ones day.
Because it is.
Later, another customer asked me to sit and talk with him while he drank his coffee and ate a muffin. So I sat with him and he told me that his bikes name is Murry to which I shared that my cars name is Sampson and he seemed to like that. There was no manager breathing down my neck, disappointed that I wasn’t wiping down the same counter for the hundredth time, but was instead having a civilized conversation with a man who promised to come back because he supports local businesses and was grateful that I sat with him and didn’t just take his money as those corporate bullshit companies always do.
I’m no longer a robot.
I won’t trick you into calling your small coffee a ‘tall’ or charge you 6 bucks to squeeze pasta out of a bag and then microwave it and serve it to you with a plastic fork. If you make me uncomfortable I’m allowed to deny you service until you learn a little respect. I’m allowed to be fucking human and treat you like a fucking human.
I work with lovely and sweet people who don’t gossip about my personal life. Who don’t give a shit about how much time I spend with my best friend and just expect me to do my job and to do it well. And because they are so fair and have created something so special, I want to give them 110%, always.
I’m so fucking grateful.
Other than my cafe job, I also work in an indie movie theater with my best friend. I appreciate what the place offers people. I appreciate the free popcorn and movies.
I love how both jobs leave me enough time to write and go out and live.
All I want is to be happy.
I want to be creative and share things with other curious people.
Waking up isn’t always easy, there’s a lot of shit going on, but on those most disappointing days when I am in fact bubbling with anxiety and sadness, I’m still happy to be breathing.