By now haven’t we all had

The macchiato conversation?

You know when you try to order one

At an authentic coffee shop—

Not a Peet’s or a Starbucks

But an independent one

Where the barista looks battle ready

Tattoos blue hair piercings and gauges

Left the fangs and demon red eye contacts home

Because she didn’t want her scary outfit

To detract from her award-winning personality

A personality that would never get her hired

Not at all the big name places

Not at the Peet’s or the Starbucks

But she didn’t care

She’d never even apply—

Not at those places

So this barista

In her barista costume

And all of its gothic splendor

She just wants to know if I’m sure

So she asks are you sure?

Are you sure?

I mean are you absolutely sure you want a macchiato?

See she really wants to make sure I’m sure

And there are so many ways

To explain that I know what a macchiato is

What it really is

And what it isn’t

And what it never should be

Or ever should have been turned into!

And I know I ordered a macchiato

And I know it’s a controversial choice

But I know what I ordered

And now all of this has me sounding—

At least inside my head

Like a total dick

For really no reason

Getting all bent out of shape over

A double shot of espresso with a dollop of foam

But today I finally crack the nut—

Or the coffee bean perhaps

And I solve the macchiato conundrum

Because I shake my head in disbelief

And say Yup, Starbucks ruined macchiatos for everyone, didn’t they?

Then no more words are exchanged between me and the barista

She just frowns and sulks over to the steampunk machine

Twisting the dials and pulling the levers

In a magnificent display of mastery and disdain

Moments later

When she hands me a perfect macchiato

I see her

I feel her humanity

I imagine the countless returns

The scowls

The banal arguments

Basic bitches lined up one after another

Their pony tails Patagonia and Lemons

Furious over the distinct lack of

Caramel-drizzled whipped and syrup-pumped nonsense

So I appreciate why she had to ask me

In my Rainbow sandals and board shorts

That don’t really match the big-print blue and white Hawaiian shirt

And my tortoise shell Wayfarers

You know having one of those days when Guy Fawkes

Feels like dressing up as Jimmy Buffett

I guess I was in costume too—

We all are

But under my costume

Was I the kind of person who could handle an authentic macchiato?

She never could have guessed by looking at me

But this macchiato wasn’t getting sent back—

Not today

I had asked for something dangerous

But with one remark

I had gained her trust

She knew I wouldn’t make her regret this macchiato

Not this time

Not ever

And as different as we might be—

You know Fawkes Buffett and the barista

I could feel in that moment

That moment when I saw her

She saw me too