my hands... they are chapped

Life at the coffee beanery has slowed to a crawl, but the problem is that we still have to wipe the counters down with bleach rags and it is the dead of winter. My hands are incessantly dry and I have spent millions (practically) on the search for the perfect moisturizer. It is the 21st century and call me a fool for thinking that modern science has come up with something by now that actually WORKS long term on dry skin.

But with all the extra time standing behind the counter NOT serving the customers who are NOT coming in to the store… I realized last night I don’t do this job for alllllll the extra money I get out of it. Sure, it helps the old pocket book… but somehow having a job like that makes me feel normal and more in my element. I’ve worked in an office the entire six years that I’ve been out of college and, in fact, I worked in an office while IN college as well… but for me… scatter-brained, attention-deficit, antsy, squirmy me… this feels good – to be up and people-watching and laughing at the rude customers or even just the dumb ones who come in and ask me if the Cinnamon Holiday Blend tastes like cinnamon. (I was given express permission… nay, ORDERED by my manager to tell such customers that it, in fact, tastes like Fruit Loops NOT cinnamon as the name suggests). I get to be one of those snobby, know-it-all baristas that everyone loves. And after a day of dealing with deadlines and meetings and post-it notes… it’s fun as heck (pardon the French).

So back to my poor little hands… I can't complain - I have worker’s hands… chapped, chafed, sad and in need of paraffin - proof that I do more than sit at an office all day punching out emails and printing reports. And for some reason, that makes me feel good inside… like there is a struggle going on in my life that I have to work extra hard for and really the paycheck is just a bonus to all of that. Besides… every girl looks cuter serving coffee than she does standing by a water cooler under the glare of fluorescent lighting…