The first men to give me attention were my Starbucks baristas
It's safe to say the power got to my head.
As a sophomore in high school, I was easily the most distractible person on the planet. A Buzzfeed quiz promising to reveal what One Direction member I was based on my breakfast food preferences had more power over me than just about any homework obligations. So one day, I decided to do homework at the Starbucks around the corner from my house in an effort to get everything done before having a mental breakdown at two in the morning. I ended up staying until they closed and never looked back. For months on end without missing a weekday, I would slide into my regular booth, order a Cool Lime Refresher with light ice, and ignore every Buzzfeed pop up that threatened to break my focus.
There was something about being in a space with other people around that really motivated me.
It’s not that I liked the collective work environment or felt empowered by other people hustling or any other healthy reason like that. I think I was motivated by knowing that other people could be watching me. I liked being perceived. If I’m doing homework in my room, that’s all I’m doing: my homework in my room. But if I’m working at Starbucks, I could be so much more: the cute, mysterious girl in the corner who’s writing her little poems and reading her little books; the working woman who has to prep for meetings with other boss bitches; or the friendly good samaritan who gives other women tampons and says things like “Girl, don’t worry, I get it! That time of the month can be brutal!”
Quickly, however, I gained a new motivation for grinding out my work in the Starbucks on Green Bay road for six hours a day: the cute baristas who I had major heart eyes for.
Yes, baristas, plural, like the Starbucks Slut I was. They were easily all over 20-years-old, and I was still fifteen or sixteen at that point, which made it all the more thrilling (and entirely inappropriate).
“Hello,” I smiled as I walked in, my backpack strapped on over a puffy winter jacket.
“Hi there,” Nathaniel smiled back, a brunette barista with brown eyes and a green apron. “Let me guess: Cool Lime Refresher?”
“And light ice, please,” I added with rosy cheeks. “This is how you know I go here way too often,” I laughed.
He began writing my order on the clear cup. “Are you in school around here? Do you go to ETHS?”
“I’m a sophomore at New Trier,” I replied. “I live right around the corner from here. This is the only place I can get work done.”
There was no one in line behind me, so he asked me a few questions about school, like my favorite subject, if I was studying for the ACT yet, that sort of thing. And as I pulled out my credit card to pay, he waved it away quickly.
“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled.
“Are you sure?” I asked, surprised.
“You’re our best customer. Always light up the place with your smile. This one’s on us.” I thanked him immensely, and before I could walk away, he added, “Oh wait, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Mia,” I replied. “I would ask for yours but the name tag kind of gave you away.”
He looked down at his name tag and back at me. “You can call me Nate.”
For the next four hours and forty-five minutes, I suppressed a smile and tried to appear as hard-working and brainy as possible, knowing that my new crush and best friend Nate could be looking in my direction at any given moment.
As the weeks went by, I had befriended practically all of the baristas.
One named Adam called me “Thumbelina” and wore a Minion shirt (yes, as in the little guys from Despicable Me), another named Chris was so whipped that he would deliver drinks to me directly to my seat, sometimes dropping off a refill without me even asking. My ego was on a different planet when I entered that Starbucks, and my favorite spot suddenly felt less like a booth and more like a throne where I could look upon my kingdom. Sometimes a friend would join me for a work session after school, and they were always amazed to see my credit card waved away, no matter what boy was behind the counter.
With each free drink, I began to wonder what else a smile could get me.
It was the first time I had experienced this type of exchange. My sexuality — or was it my innocence? — for something in return. Back then, it was a Cool Lime Refresher, and now, it’s a Vodka Tonic with extra lime (I’ve always been a lime girl, what can I say!). Baristas turned into bartenders and smiles turned into more, and now I can’t quite decide if the drinks are really free. Railed Readers, what do you think?
