Now that I work at Java Junkies (you should visit me), I have found my true calling. No, it isn't being an aging, maternally-hip barista. I am a Cafferapist. Please do not pronounce the last two syllables as 'rapist.' I don't want to run into the same problem as
No, the reason that I am a great Cafferapist is because of my uncanny ability to elicit full confessions from complete strangers. This has been my Super Special Oprah Power since forever. Every time I check out in a grocery store or wait in line somewhere or help an old guy find his wife some nice Hanes sweatpants at Target -- people tell me things. Horrible things, wonderful things, powerful things. People tell me about their illnesses or their spouses cheating on them or their childhood stories of abuse. And I listen. And I don't make fun of them later, because you know what? I can't do much in this life, but the one damn thing I can do is listen. If you tell me your story, I will treat it with respect. If no one else wants to listen to your harrowing childbirth story, hey, call me up. (Or rather email me. Or better yet, visit me at my coffee shack!) Your stories are real. And important. I will always be willing to lend you my freakishly cartilaginous unbendy ears. And now that I am at Java Junkies, I will make you a nice warm latte or hot chocolate while you talk to me. I think you are amazing.
So this is the apron I embroidered as modeled by my adorable daughter.
I have to give Brad the Barista credit for this idea. He told me that I should stitch 'Caffeine Therapist' on our aprons. (I will make yours this weekend, Brad!) And now, speaking of Brad -- whom I totally 'mom' whenever I get the chance....
|If you are cool you will come to this on Saturday.|
Plus, there will be stickers at the CD release concert. STICKERS.
Brad would like you to not think about the HUMAN CENTIPEDE while looking at his free stickers. But, as for me . . . MUST. NOT. CUT. AND REASSEMBLE.
I hope to see you Saturday Night, guys!