i dunno if i want to get this out. i don't even know if this should be called an autobiography, considering that fact that i've been a barista for less than a year. that is, if i'm even allowed to be labeled as one. i would be happy to be labeled as one though.

i stood behind the bar. stiff as a tree. i was tall enough to be. my long branchy hands made it seem easy to reach for stuff. but being tall always comes with its downfall. one of it was being clumsy. it was a stereotype, but i knew that i would prove that stereotypes exist. it was midnight, and i was being introduced to the bar and it was sad. there was so much to learn ."could you repeat about the grinding of the beans? what number is it supposed to be? wait, so milk has to be steamed to what temperature? what's mis-en-place?"

i held on though. that whole night, i stood behind the bar and was doing whatever i was told anally. the first thing i had to do was learn how to clean the bar. like really clean it. and i knew at the back of my head that i was doing very little. it finally came, 6 hours later. my first actual test. a man of muslim descent. he stood over the bar and i really have to commend his patience. it took about 6 mins plus and sixty three questions. he picked up the coffee and said to me "this must be a special coffee." i assumed he was being sarcastic but when i asked why he said that, he replied, "it's your first cup of coffee." i smiled nervously. he walked away, took a sip of his latte, stopped in his tracks and then looked at the cup. he cocked his head back and lifted the coffee slightly. "Very good coffee!."

i began to build my interest in being a barista. however, as i started to actually build up more on this fascinating art, i realised that i actually was making lazy espresso. press a button and out comes your espresso. sure it's better than what you get from those hospitals and offices with the instant cappuccino. everywhere i look, starbucks and all those other coffee places, used the conventional method of grinding the espresso beans and then tamping and all that jazz. we used the super automation machine. it's great, and it can be better than the actual one. but if your calibration of the machine wasn't good, you'd be getting thin espresso. and drinking thin espresso is like drinking thin espresso. it doesn't hit the palate well. but what do i know right?

so i carried on, having to live by this method. many a times i had actually contemplated on leaving and joining starbucks. but there was something tcc gave that starbucks and coffee bean don't really give - tcc actually gave a fuck. and that's what you want. if your barista doesn't give a fuck, you'll realise that it's true what they say about the barista and the coffee that comes from him, even if from a automated machine - it can come out sour on a bad day. and tcc was paying me more.

when it gets busy, it gets hot. and when it gets hot, and if you can't stand it, get out of the kitchen. your bar is stocked up for the slam. your mis-en-place, sits there in its own little cosy holder, just literally chilling. you are happy. you know you've got it right. two hours before, you knew it was coming, which was why you got yourself and your bar prepared. it's amazing how things can change in just an hour or two. but then, halfway, something fucks up. you get slammed, and you get slammed hard. your printer is furiously printing orders every minute or two. it may be fine but when you have tables for 4, 6 and even (great for sales, it's fuck for you) 10. of course there may be the occasional party for 12 plus. it has happened. and this people have dedicated themselves to coming to your restaurant for just drinks and to also see how you sink. why? well, it's always encouraged to send all your drinks together. and it's also considerate to do that.

so you've just sent out drinks for a table for three and you don't even have the time to wipe the sweat off your forehead. you've got to do those drinks for the table for 12 and you just found out that you can do the next table at the same time. so it's 5 blended drinks, three iced teas, 4 flavored lattes and 3 sodas (3 lychee jazz, do people realise it's a pain trying to pick up mint leaves at a busy period). you look up at your runner. you repeat yourself again. "this two for table 3, this one for table 14." she picks the drinks and looks at the order chits. you sigh. "table 3. table 14. go now." you turn around. your steward is busy scavenging whatever remains he can off the last drink from the blender. "ABANG, CEPAT. CUCI!" the drinks that you made for the last table still stands at the pass, sitting on the bar counter. you've pressed the bell twice and just when you're about to press the bell once again, your runner runs towards you and then says a phrase with probably the two worst words ever heard in F&B industry. "i've sent it to the wrong table." your manager has left you alone now to attend to a customer who apparently complained about why his blended drink came surprisingly fast like two minutes after his order and it has already been 10 minutes and his other party has not received their drinks yet. the kitchen is also furiously ting-ing their bell. they have four plates at the pass. and the in-charge is yelling at you "why nobody send? runner where?" a few minutes later, a station staff comes up to you and says the table right infront of you wants to change the drink, and once you've made the necessary changes, they come back to you and say, that same table wants the same drink they first ordered. that's when you totally lose it and just let out an expletive so loud, the same table in reference looks up at you and gives you that look. "ABANG!! CUCI BLENDER!!!"

my manager then comes in, shaking her head. she looks over at the current situation and sees i've got my hands wrapped around the neck of my runner. have you realise that when someone asks you to cool down, you start to let all your frustration out. "Manage your people, can you? this fellow has already sent like about 20 drinks to the wrong table in the last 20 mins. the kitchen is yelling at me because they want their food out. that table over there is waving their hands like their plane just crashed into the sea, they're in a boat and they think we are the coast guard when in fact we're just a terrorist boat. and this steward just won't stop drinking his tea freeze." a new staff then comes in and then asks you "table 22 asking why their drinks taking so long?"