I grasped the black portafilter, it was smooth against my hands.

Bang bang bang and down goes the rest of the warm, gritty, espresso beans into the trash can below my feet shhshh. Some of the remnants of the beans fell unto the floor by my red converse, the white tips of the shoes already stained with dirt, coffee sloshes and bike tire marks. It gave personality, even though these shoes were seventy nine dollars. “Yes! It’s been forever, how are you?” Two younger girls hugged each other.

With a moan, I grabbed the cold and soggy white towel, stained with more coffee grounds and wiped up the cool chunks of espresso on the tiled floor around the trash can. “Oh really? I liked what you said earlier about the budget,” said a woman at a nearby table. I set the wet towel down next to my machine and grabbed another towel hanging on top of a near by rack and wiped my hands of the nasty previous towel and locked back in.

I set the portafilter in the silver cup of the espresso machine. It was a good machine, wasn’t new but it wasn’t old either. It was just right. It was a light green minty color with a white backing to it. In silver metal letters it said Young Lady Coffee Co. Next to it, a tall and skinny black grinder, with a spinning wheel up top grounded up my beans before the pull.

Oh, looking at the top of the grinder, I turned to my right and walked to the wooden shelves of glass air tight jars with different coffee beans written on it. Dark cedar wood, light Ethiopian blend, medium coffee house blend, espresso—there. I pulled the lid off and gave it a sniff. Still nutty, with an after effect of chocolate—kissed with the sweetness, not really sure of the source of it…was it apple? Pear? “Do you all have tea? Oh great, what types?” Who am I to know, I just work here. When was this last opened? The bitterness of expired beans hasn’t taken over just yet. Still good.

I walked back to my station by my black robot espresso bean machine—extravaganza! Built into my machine was a handle for scooping beans that hung on the side. I reached back behind the skinny machine and grabbed a silver bucket and scooted my black, scale I front of me. “Wahhhhh ah huhhh,” cried a baby. I really need to whipe this down. I put the silver bucket on the scale and clicked the power button. Zero point zero, zero point zero, zero point zero, gleamed back at me on the tiny screen. With the jar in my right shoulder, I scooped out beans from my jar and placed them into my silver bucket. Three scoops, scump, sheesh, scump sheesh. Good. 540 grams is what I needed.

I took that and filled the top of my coffee grinding machine. Should make me about thirty cups, on a good day. I opened the lid on top and poured my beans in and locked it tight. “Jason! I’m just grabbing my coffee I will be there in twenty,” said a nearby man into his phone._ _I returned my jar, making sure it was airtight and then when back to my work.

I set the portafilter down ontop of the scale and zero’s it out. Then I pace it in the silver cup hanger of my coffee grinder machine and pushed the circular button in the middle and counted. Mmmaarrrrrrrhhhh it hummed as it shaked. 1, 2, 3, a person bursted laughing in the background, clearly with his friends, 7, 8, 9, “yes do you have any sugar free options?” 11, 12, and 13–STOP! One second more and the mountain of soft espresso would overflow on to the white granite counters.

Carefully removing the portafilter and placing it on the silicone black mat next to my coffee grinder, I again grabbed my scale and placed it in front of me. No time to clean it. I then placed the espresso filled handle on my scale. 18.5, 19.2, 19 grams. One gram over. I then pulled out my long spoon with a sort of twisted metal design from the cup resting on top of my espresso machine and try to scoop out the one gram to many. 17.9. That’ll do.

I then looked to the left of the machine for my tamp. Where did I put it? Ah. I grabbed the black metal circular handle, similar to a door knob and placed it on top of the espresso mountain. Snap and click! With my two hands I smashed the mountain in my little silver cup attop my portafilter, flattening the soft espresso mountain. “That will be fifteen dollars and ninety-two cents.”

It was perfect. The beans were all flat evenly, no incline what so ever, a perfect tamp. Now it was time to load the machine. Another silver tray hung beneath my group head of my machine. I felt the warm heat coming from a top as I angled my portafilter to the left and turned it back forward as I locked it into the machine. I nearly burned my finger after placing it. Looks like a good clean out tonight will do well for this machine too, I thought as I felt the grounds get to the edge of my hand. I grabbed that white wet towel again and whiped it off.

To the right on top of my silver machine were my shot glasses. My portafilter had two spouts and two shots were to come out after I push the button. Clink, clink. It was now time to go.I pushed the silver iluminated button that said “pull,” and began to count, 1, 2, 3, espresso slowly began to trickle out of both spouts. First the espresso was a light brown but then as more came out it quickly and looked like it was running, like a Guinness pour into a beer glass. Once the machine stopped, a pale thin brown line appeared up top of each glass. “Yummy,” my coworker smiled at me, “Great pull.”

There is was. That buttery smooth scent of the espresso finally hit my nose. Still had that hint of chocolate and sweetness of some fruit…was it orange? The espresso had finally settled and it was time to pour it into the mug white mug that was handing on a hook above me. It was warm as it was just pulled out from the back kitchen washer. I must have missed them restocking the mugs. I put it on my scale and zero’ed it out. Pouring the espresso, shelump, shelump, I looked at the blinking screen in the top corner of my space. Now what did she order? Oh the honey bee latte. Typical.

To the left of my machine were my syrups sat on a tiered plastic shelf. I spotted the purple syrup and grabbed it. Pump, pump, 7, 14.5g of lavender, and then I returned to my shelf with my coffee beans and grabbed the honey jar. I unscrewed the sticky jar and began to pour it into my mug. It poured out slowly, its gold gleaming from the florecent lights from above. 22.5, 28, 30.3 grams. Perfect.

I grabbed my spoon and whisked the warm espresso, honey and lavender together. “Is it ready yet?” I heard from somewhere nearby. Was it directed at me? I had limitted time. I moved my mug out of the way and grabbed a silver cup from above, next to my mugs. Down below was my mini fridge full of barista milks. I grabbed a gallon oof, heavy, and poured milk up to a second of three indentions into my silver cup. Then I held it up to my frothing spout on the right and flipped the switch. Shhhaaaa, shhhhhh. I angled my silver cup and allowed the milk to froth while also holding the bottom of the cup with my hand. I glanced up. Looks like the lines have gotten longer.

Yikes! I cut the switch and brought my milk down to the counter. Bang, bang, bang, I allowed some bubbles to travel to the top of my heated milk. I might have over frothed it a bit, but it’ll do for now. I grabbed the mug with my left and and allowed the silver cup to “kiss” the edge of the white mug. I began to pour the milk as if the milk was “sneaking” underneath the flavored espresso. Eventually towards the middle of the mug a white fluffy cloud appeared in the middle of the cup. Once the cup was filled, I took a tooth pick and dragged the milk from the top of the circle, down. A plump heart appeared in the middle.

I was finished. Who was this for? Ally! I yelled. And put the white mug on a saucer and placed up on the window above the machine. Ally sure enough was standing there and said “Thank you much appreciated,” and left. I whiped my sweat on my brow.

My boss pulled me to the side before I can look at the next order. “You really lock in, take a break, Mark got your usual sitting in the break room.” I nodded and left for lunch, letting my coworker remove my portafilter from the machine and start the whole process over again.