The Barista's Smile

It’s pretty disarming. I find them pretty damn intimidating too. Every time I wander over to the local coffee shop, I have to steel myself for this inevitable addition to customer service.

After perusing the displayed assortment of confections, I will approach the cashier with my order. Sometimes I’m lucky and the barista will just look at me in a distant stony like fashion that I find oddly comforting at times.

Most times, there will be a smile. A blinding smile with a friendly, “How’s it going?” to which I can only sputter, “Uh.. How’s.. I mean.. um I’d like the orange chocolate scone… and.. a small tea?” I can feel my shoulders slumping as my ears start reddening. And then as I wait in line for my order, I give a sigh of relief. One more encounter down, an infinity left to go.

What is it with smiles? I can’t handle them. Maybe I don’t have enough of them in my life. Maybe the years of angry patients have taken their toll on me. I can tell you one thing. Smiles, I just don’t like them.