This is a short one.
Picture this. It is Sunday afternoon and you are sitting on your balcony with a coffee and your roommate. It is early afternoon, and the sun is shining through the leaves.
A few houses down, your neighbours are having lunch and you can hear their silverware clanging lightly on their plates.
Someone cycles by on their bike. They are singing opera while they pedal.
Today was a good.
Today I was offered a job.
I live in a primarily Italian neighbourhood and there are, what seem to be a disproportionate number of espresso machine stores. All within walking distance of my house. I was on my way looking for a nearby library, and was passing by a “Faema” dealership. Having time to spare, I wandered in to investigate not knowing that I apparently had the look of someone who should have a lifetime career in selling Faema espresso makers.
An older, impressive presence of a gentleman told me about the different stovetop coffee makers, how they work, where they are made, what they are good for etc. After this, the conversation took a decided turn to something (I thought) completely unrelated.
Him: “So you are not from here?”
Me: “No, I am from the Maritimes.” (Is it that obvious I’m not from here?)
Him: “Oh! Charlottetown. You are from Charlottetown.” (I’m not.) “I like people from there. My last girl who worked here was from there. She worked for me for 25 years. Very trustworthy.”
Me: “Well, I’m not really from Charlottetown...”
Him: “Do you have a job?”
Me: “Well, no but...”
Him: “Why not? You should work here.”
Me: “I am actually going to school at ...”
Him: “You seem smart. Are you good at computers?”
Me: “Yeah, I guess you could say that, I really should...”
Him: “Come here, I will show you how to make good coffee. You come here on Monday to start. If you are good, you work here part-time. After school you will be full-time after school and you can have a month off to go home to Charlottetown.” (At this point, I knew I was never going to change his mind about where I was from...) “Put down your bag, take off your coat. You don’t have to be anywhere. Come behind the counter. This is the best espresso maker in the world. It is straight from Milan.”
What was I to do? I went behind the counter and made myself an espresso.
The store itself is absolutely magical. It smells like fresh ground coffee and old-man cologne. There are shiny machines sitting in these large windows with the light from outside glinting on them. It looks like it would take ten thousand year to dust it all. The espresso we made was the best thing I have ever tasted. I was dumbfounded when I watched the shot get pulled.
I eventually escaped, but with a little espresso maker and some coffee at an insane discount (think under ten dollars). Generally I pride myself at no longer being a “yes- person”, but it is incredibly difficult to say no to this man. I think I would accidently start a contract there if I wasn’t careful. I’m going to have to write a letter and turn down his offer – Even if it is a real job. the coffee from my little stove-top maker is amazing. I have an oven-fired milk steamer as well. I have just saved myself a lot of money on lattes for the rest of my life.
As a side note, I found the library.
