Barista

July 8th 2019

Today I wondered whether I’d be happier packing it all in and heading off to become a Barista in Berlin. Or Barcelona. Or Bucharest. Or Bratislava. At some point I’ll run out of B’s, but then I’d move on to the C’s. Copenhagen. Cairo. Even Cardiff. Or I could go backwards to Amsterdam, Antalya, or anywhere. Because I could. Because that’s all my world would be, and I’d have the whole world in which to do it.

And maybe it would be easier. And I’d have less to worry about. Less anxiety dreams that wake me up in a sweat. I genuinely woke up screaming the other night because I dreamt that my CEO was stood at the foot of my bed watching over me. You don’t need to get your interpretative dream book out to figure that one out.

That being said, when I worked a completely low-stress waitering job at this local, rustic-Italian restaurant called — and I will never tire of this joke — Pizza Hut, I always had stress dreams about work. I never had a pizza stood at the end of my bed, but I’d spend the whole day at work in the physical realm, and then the whole night back at work within my mental slumber. I’d have to look after the whole restaurant by myself, and I inexplicably could not find the taps.

Though maybe I’d also dream of my coffee shop job in Amsterdam, Bucharest or Cardiff. Maybe I’d dream of burnt milk, accidentally phallic latte art or an abundance of avocados.

Maybe having stress dreams about work isn’t even a bad thing. Sure, I’d probably rather picture scoring the winning penalty in a World Cup final, or, something equally as cliched like a Yacht Race around the Bahamas, but at least stress dreams about work prove that I’m in invested in it (he says, partly to placate his boss who is probably going to read this with 1) slight concern, but also 2) a decent amount of confusion over this weirdly syntaxed, 3rd-person, 4th-wall breaking interlude, and 5) six, seven, eight.)

Anyway.

Life would be easier as a barista. I could get paid for doing two of the things I love: practicing latte art and pretending to be pretentious. And also, travel. Because I could leave whenever I wanted to. Without a three month notice or the repayment of servitude, I could decide to move from A to B to C with no hassle. Or stress. Or sales targets.

Until tomorrow, what would make me happier?

Jacn

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s