oh man.

Oh man. 

I think I am in over my head. 

I love making coffee for people. I used to work for the store that must not be named. I quit that job while in Korea, after realizing that I don't actually have to continue to work for the corporate of America; I didn't have to put together flyers and hang up posters of the new promotional beverage or ask anyone if they wanted to pair a pastry with their coffee. I could choose something else, something other than that, and still not work in an office. So I let it go. But there were parts of it that I missed. When I was in Korea, I would go to The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, and I would look upon the beautiful Korean baristas with envy. I missed my job. I missed the interaction with customers, and the chance to create something delicious for someone that would appreciate it. 

When I returned from my soul crafting summer in another country, I was jobless. I had a few weeks to get by, and I knew I could go back to that part of my life I had let go if necessary, but I really didn't want to. I took a job for a day at Big Al's, where I was allowed, with caution, to use the smoothie machine. I went back the following day to return my shirt. I was getting ancy. I was getting nervous. I was starting to use my credit card. 

With one last ditch effort on Craig's List, I found my match. A local coffee shop looking for a barista. Livable pay. Hiring now. Email resume. I did, right away. It turned out to be one of those it's-a-small-world stories with a happy ending. I had just seen the man I was emailing for the position a few evenings before at a local mexican place. He was with his girlfriend, someone I used to work with. She gave me a stellar recommendation. We talked the next day. I was hired. I was making americanos again. 

This time, though, I was tamping the espresso myself, a task that was done by the machine at my last coffee spot. And this new steam wand didn't shut itself off like the super automatic contraption that had made my previous job revolve around automated button pushing. 

Here I am, seven months into the future, and I still get excited each time I step behind the machine to make a drink. This is a good thing, especially when so many of my customers spend the brief amount of time that our paths cross lamenting the fact that they are leaving me to return to a job that has the tendency to suck the life and soul out of them. My job adds the good stuff back in.  

A local coffee shop here is hosting a latte art competition.  A good portion of my very talented friends make coffee at other places in Tulsa, and will be competing. I put my money in the jar, in a moment sleepy weakness, effectively entering myself into this competition. I am a David among Goliaths. I am in over my head.