Coffee Boy

 I was 14 when I got my first job. There was some loop hole in the Child Labor Laws that allowed me and my brother to get dumped into a 100 degree corn field for 8 hours a day. It was miserable, filled with scary corn spiders and even scarier day laborers.

 

Steve and I hated it so much we would concoct plans to injure ourselves, all of which would require us to have major surgery if they succeeded. My brother stabbed me in the back by acquiring a massive pollen allergy.

 

But I did get comic book spending money.

 

Cut to 75 years later. Elijah decided he wanted to get a summer job. After not being called back for several (Seriously, Trader Joe?) his pal Henry got him a gig at a local coffee shop.

 

Possibly the greatest job a sixteen year old could have. A bunch of high school and college aged kids floating in hormones and caffeine. There’s a mean, creepy boss. A dumb beautiful girl, countless customers just begging to get their vanilla latte spit into.

 

The only thing that could ruin it is your idiot father coming in.

 

Which is my great pleasure. I like to swoop in like Donald Trump at a Mar-a-lago wedding reception. All finger guns and smiles. Sometimes I’ll tap the shoulder of the person ahead of me and loudly proclaim, “That’s MY SON taking your order. Isn’t he handsome?”

 

I then turn my attention to the staff. “Hey. Eli’s dad here. I’m Eli’s dad. I believe there will be a family discount coming my way.” I’ll throw in a fist bump or two.

 

Eli’s friend Henry dives right in, because he knows it makes Eli crazy. “Mr. Rick! Eli’s being real grouchy today.”

 

And suddenly, he is very grouchy indeed. Oh the pleasure of seeing your son shoot you daggers with his eyes. His seething hatred feeds me.

Sometimes he’ll run around the counter and shove my coffee into my hands to get me out of there. Big mistake. This only allows me to grab him in a great big hug and proclaim, “I LOVE MY COFFEE BOY!”

 

I do love my coffee boy.