This past week an old high school classmate came into my work – “Miracles Cafe” a small independent seaside coffeehouse – and asked me the inevitable:

“So … what are you up to these days?” She said it with such cheerfulness that it was obvious it wasn’t a question at all. It was a statement. I almost heard it, bubbling out of her head – “how in the hell are you still working here after all these years, didn’t you ever finish college?”

I’ve become accustomed to this non-statement. I’ve heard it all my life. Seen it on the faces of teachers, friends’ parents, relatives.

“Does not work up to potential.” I remember seeing it typed out, line after line, on every progress report and report card from junior high through senior year of high school.

Potential to do what?

I’ve been working at Miracles Cafe since May of 2000. Nearly four years. It is something of an institution here in small town Cardiff. The same customers have been coming here two, three times a day for the past decade or more. I’ve seen lonely single coffee drinkers meet and start dating, I’ve seen them break up and start dating their ex’s best friends. I’ve seen young unsure, broke couples get steady jobs, marry, have kids, and buy a house. I’ve seen local musicans get signed to record labels. I’ve also seen them give up on music and become software programmers.

I’ve seen the Mattson twins grow up from two freshmen in high school with a mild interest in jazz on their path to what will inevitably be much deserved world-wide recognition. I’ve seen Jackie grow up from a shy young high school kid not wanting to look up from her sketch book to a confident, talented artist. (The pictures on this post are of her or taken by her. She had to make an article of clothing for one of her classes and decided on this bodice – look closely – of ribs, veal, and ground meat. The other picture she took of co-worker Ryan – aka Flaco – and his famous three cigarette trick)

I’ve seen a lot during my time here at Miracles. I feel like I know half the city – if not by name, then by coffee drink. I’ll be walking along the beach and I’m like, “hey, hey – what’s up single mocha no whip?” And they’ll say, “yo, coffee guy, what’s going on?” OK, not quite – but something along those lines.

This is home. More so than my own home ever was growing up. I’m actually writing this at Miracles right now. It’s 8:45 p.m. on a Saturday night. John Foltz is playing Dylan and Counting Crows covers on the piano. If I ask he’ll play Solsbury Hill and it will get stuck in my head for the rest of the night. I’ve known him and his wife since before they were married. Last week she gave birth to a small baby boy – 6 weeks pre-mature but healthy and strong. He’s here right now, wiggling around to his dad’s songs.

Jose just came and left. He brought a few Coronas with him. We clinked bottles, said salud, chugged for a few seconds in silence and then talked shit about all the customers in Spanish. We assume they can’t understand us. Sometimes we get caught. When I first started working here Jose and I would work every night together. At that time he spoke only a few words of English and would mostly clean, cook, and do dishes while I helped the customers. This was before Starbucks moved in down the street and we were much busier. Now Jose’s English is impressive and we work separately on different nights. We’re still good friends butmust make the effort to see each other. For more than three years he would tell me stories of his childhood in southern Guanajuato, of his family, and friends, and drunken exploits. Weekly we would talk about this grand trip that we would take down there together.

Last August – just a couple months after Jose became a father – I finally took that trip, but Jose wasn’t able to come. I stayed with his mother, father, and nieces for nearly a month. One of the most humble and giving families I have ever met. Just a couple months ago Laura and I went back to his hometown of Acambaro and visited his family again.

There are the typical students scattered around the tables inside. College kids concentrating on poorly written, thick “intro to something or other” text books. There are a few high school students who are doodling in their notebooks. The hipsters are outside sitting on the benches with their cigarettes, their converses tucked under their knees. I’ll be seeing most of them at the Modest Mouse show on Monday. The group of Alcoholics Anonymous are outside too. They are in their late 20’s, their tattoos are already starting to fade. They’ve traded ethyl alcohol for caffeine and nicotine.

Like I said, I’ve worked here for four years, but I’ve had other jobs too. I’ve helped teach math at an inner city school in Chula Vista. I’ve worked at a research center looking into the nuero-psychological effects of H.I.V. I’ve worked retail, done some web design, done handy-man work. And this is the only job that I’ve ever enjoyed. The only job I’ve ever had not drowning in mismanagement and hypocrisy.

Throughout all my time here, all the employees and customers I’ve seen come and go, I can tell you one thing that has always remained true. I work with some of the most intelligent and creative people you have ever taken for granted and day after day we wait on some of the most uninformed, pretentious fools who are instantly stumped when asked if they would rather have a large or small. “For here” they say. Yes, but would you rather have a small or a large? “In a mug.” Sure, we’ll put it in a mug and you can have it for here, but you need to tell me if you want 12 ounces of coffee or 16. “A medium.”

I give them a large and charge them two dollars extra which I put in my tip jar for having to deal with excessive stupidity.

On our menu we have a vegan sandwich for $4.95. Beneath it reads, “Add meat, $20.” I have had people ask for this extra meat.

I have also seen people wait 10 minutes in line to reach the counter and say, “Uh sorry, I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu.” Oh, that big fucking thing behind me that’s been staring you in the face for the past 10 minutes while you’ve been chatting with your friend about how great weight watchers is? No worries, take your time.

What I’m saying is next time someones waiting on you – whether at the supermarket, corner store, or coffee shop – don’t treat them like they are stupid, don’t even think it.