This is your fault, Jeff Tweedy
I’ve always wanted to compete in a barista competition. But in the same way I’ve always wanted to play the drums for Wilco or make out with Robert Downey Jr. The kind of thoughts one becomes preoccupied with while drunkenly waiting for the bus in front of the Sandy Hut. Or showering. I think about Robert Downey Jr a lot in the shower.
Wait.
What were we talking about?
Oh. Right.
Coffee.
It’s been one year, three months and 24 days since I loaded the Volvo up with my most precious possessions (roller skates, trombone, and sweaters) drove away from Hood River and parked on 57th and Division. I spent the first 3 months on a friend’s couch. Note: Sleeping on a couch is a serious hindrance to one’s “game”. My move to Portland was a poorly planned attempt to “move forward” in the specialty coffee industry. It is still unclear to me exactly what that means. Make more money? Earn prestige? Have a dirtier dosing finger? After two disastrous interviews with Stumptown and a confusing email exchange with Kevin at the Press I decided to throw both middle fingers in the air and point them squarely in the direction of the specialty coffee industry. Because I’m mature like that.
Thus began my illustrious career as an office monkey for a TV repair company. Just in case you were wondering; that is the opposite of being a barista. Every day I sat at a desk wearing horrible combinations of pinstripes and polyblend under fluorescent lights while rich people yelled at me about their busted plasma televisions.
It got to the point where I just needed to pull shots. It didn’t matter where. I blanketed the town in resumes. If there was an espresso machine in the building; they got a resume. It was actually my grandmother who forwarded me the craigslist ad that led my current gig at Blend. I’ve never felt so supported by an employer. Lara and Kristy (the owners) really respect my skill, passion and ideas.
Though my move to Portland did not pan out exactly the way I thought it would, there is no logical reason why I am not the happiest girl in NoPo. Serving Stumptown Coffee at a kick as shop? Living off of thai food, bacon, whiskey and espresso? Having close friends and cute boys on speed dial? Did I mention the bacon? And how cute my cat is? He is goddamn cute. But something is still not right. A friend described my lack of contentment as, “the natural let down that comes with accomplishing all of your goals and realizing they aren’t everything you had expected.”
I’m throwing logistics and insecurities to the proverbial wind and tossing my (rather fashionable) hat into the ring. I was lucky enough to spend the day picking the insightful and adorable brain of Miss Jen Prince. I’ll be spending as much time as possible training on the Simonelli over at the roastery. Time to get on the horn with some of my farmer friends from Hood River to talk about my signature drink. With the competition less than 6 weeks away there is a lot of work to be done. It’s very daunting and in all likelihood I will not place very high. But it’s still nice to reach for something after treading water for so long.
