…and you are?

The other day I was dropping off some coffee for a customer and one of the employees at the store came out….blah blah…talk talk….we introduced ourselves. I was happy. I was very happy, and I’ll tell you why. The man stood there with a gift from heaven. Yes, if you can imagine this: He had his name “Mike”, embroidered to his shirt. There it sat, happily perched upon his left chest, embroidered in a contrast blue stitching to his baby blue button down shirt. What I loved about this is that, unlike my typical lame self, when I forget a person’s name about 1 minute after I meet them, I had his little shirt to tell me who he was, and I could say in style as I walked away, “nice to meet you M-I-K-E”. Yeah. Nice touch, I know.

I’ve met a few hundred new people in the last months, and I have to say, I’m much better at remembering names than I used to be. Inevitably, though, someone will walk in the front door of my store, know exactly who I am, and I’ll have no idea what their name is. I scan to the left chest to see if by chance I’m blessed with an embroidered reminder, or a plastic badge bearing the two legged human’s name without looking like I’m checking if it’s cold outside. Why couldn’t this person just have come back from “Learning to Talk to Your Teenager” seminar and have the “Hello My Name Is” sticker still conveniently pasted over the chocolate doughnut stain on their shirt? Come on…help a sista out.

Here’s the unfairness of it all. I’m aware that half of the faces who “know” me are cheating anyway, as they walk in my door and say “hello Lizzy”. Nice work, but they’ve just read the “Lizzy’s Fresh Coffee” store hours on the front door. Anyone who has met me knows that I NEVER introduce myself as Lizzy. I don’t go by Lizzy, I don’t smell like a Lizzy, and I only have one friend on the planet who calls me that, and it’s usually after I’ve had a cocktail or two. I’m Liz, and my brand is someone else. I’m not near nice enough to be called that anyway, where as she (my company) is a nicer, sweeter, more patient, and much more bubbly version of Elizabeth (a name only saved for my mother and friends who knew me in the 3rd grade).

Once a person proclaims the “Lizzy”, as I like to call it, I feel like I know something about the person standing before me that they don’t know that I know (like maybe they cheat when they’re the banker during a game of Monopoly). I laugh a little inside, smile back, scan for the name tag, feel defeated, and say “nice to see you again”. I muddle through a couple minutes of conversation that ends in the victorious hand over of the credit card….Ah the glory of retail. My heart pounds, I feel relieved, and I say as the person turns to leave….
“Thanks for coming in, J-I-M”.

Raise Your Hand, Please

Fifty pounds of 3rd grader, not more than 4 feet tall sat on the floor with her arm straight up in the air. She sat quietly, but her arm, supported at the elbow by her other arm, was quite obnoxiously throwing me off my game. I did say to the group “If you have a question, just raise your hand”. I guess you have to tell 9 year olds…”but wait for a natural pause in my very impressive presentation so as not to interrupt the rhythm of my infinitely interesting story”.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The question she had cooked up must be so important that I can’t possibly continue with the current subject. And I clearly haven’t mastered that teacher’s skill of the “raise your hand take-down”, where the teacher notices the upheld arm, but challenges it to a sort of game of chicken. The teacher knows she can out-talk the arm into total submission. After all, blood does need to get to the finger tips. Keep talking, and the kid’s arm will soon succumb, starting with the need for support of the other arm, followed by head bobbing from the child herself, followed by a complete and utter blank of what the question was in the first place. And ahhh…there it is. The take down. Victory. Teacher-1, Kid-0.

……..I can’t do it any more…”Yes, what’s your question?” I said as I pointed to her. The little girl, looking completely victorious that she kicked my butt in our silent battle of “raise your hand chicken”.
“Um”, she says, “is it true what my Dad says that coffee stunts your growth?”

I thought about this one for a flash as 20 sets of 3rd graders stared at me along-side the 5 sets of “adult chaperones” awaited my perfect answer that would, of course, completely corroborate with their “I’m feeling like a lazy parent and want to take the easy way out on this one” answer. Seeing no escape with any hope of blurting the correct response, I said “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one. Would you research that on the internet and send me a report on what you find out?” Her eyes were big and happy as she bravely took on the responsibility of digging for the truth to her question.

This really was the only question that slipped me up over the last 3 weeks as I had each of the local school’s 3rd grade classes up to my coffee store for field trips. To be fair, I had been challenging the kids to a sort of geography, science, and social studies smack down during their tours, so getting a reverse challenge wasn’t exactly unfair.

The field trips started with the legend of the discovery of coffee by Kaldi, the famous goat-herder in Ethiopia. The kids danced on cue when I told them to pretend to be the “dancing goats” who’d become so hopped-up on caffeine from eating the magical cherries that they were acting like complete spazoids (again, not a difficult stretch for a 9 year old to act out). I was impressed by their ability to identify continents around the globe, and to understand that countries near the equator had warmer temperatures than areas farther north or south. Good stuff kids, you’re in front of the statistics so far! We rounded out that section with coffee harvesting and processing techniques used, and dug our hands into the piles of green coffee beans right in front of them.

We moved on to the science of coffee roasting from there. Why is it that kids have this freakish desire to be the “closest” one to the person talking? This one, I can do. “Kids”, I said, “take 2 steps back”. Ahh…breathing room.

The chemical changes that happen during coffee roasting are extremely complex, and the kids got to see first-hand examples of coffee going through its evolution from green bean to fully roasted bean. They repeated “ENDOTHERMIC” and “EXOTHERMIC” as a group, and again, on cue, had it all figured out within seconds. I swear I’ve explained this stuff to intelligent adults who don’t make it half that far!

I asked the kids “should we start up the coffee roaster?” “YEEEEEESSSS!” they screamed. Of course, how would I not know the answer to that? We fired up each of the parts of the roaster, the drum, the air, the gas, the cooling bin agitator, and the door. The kids each pushed their way to the front to see the “blue flame” of the gas inside the roaster’s viewing window. Wow, who knew that a little blue light was better than Xbox?

Looking for fire

Next came my favorite part of the tour. To complete the travels of the coffee properly, we’d have to brew some up and taste it, right? The look of horror on the chaperones’ faces was indescribable. Everything from, “Are you out of your fricking mind giving kids that stuff?” to “Our church doesn’t believe in the beverage of coffee” came my way.

Preparing some coffee to taste...can we be any closer?

go on...taste it

They all scampered off at the end of our time together, and seemed to love every minute of it. I know I did.

P.S. I still haven’t received that report on coffee and growth rates in children, but as soon as I do, I’ll be sure to share it with you all .

Gotta Be Nimble

So today I was at the gym. It was a beautiful sunny day, with the mountains all covered in white snow and the sky as blue as could be. Why was I inside you might ask? Answer: 4 degrees. That was the temperature. No one in his or her right mind goes outside to exercise when it�s 4 degrees. Ok, I though, I�ll just hit the gym and finally try one of the yoga classes I�ve been �meaning� to go to for the past 6 years. I could use the relaxation, I thought, after the busy holiday. I show up with 4 minutes to spare to class time, only to find a line out the door, and nothing but wall to wall yoga toned people already filling the classroom. Bummer. I�d have to find something else to do since everybody else who�s been meaning to come for 6 years just showed up too.

So I hit the gym instead, and 15 minutes into my �glad I�m actually not at yoga right now� routine, I was on the floor doing sit-ups. I was on the gym�s matt minding my own business near a row of machines, the closest of which was one that Chuck Norris sold in the 90�s on TV infomercials at 2 a.m. Out of the corner of my eye I see a large black mass coming toward me with an increase in noise. I shoot away from the shape and sound knowing that something will be landing on me if I don�t. One and a half seconds later I look over to see what I avoided. It was a man, let�s just say who wouldn�t have fit in at today�s yoga class, in mid-back summersault hurling to the exact spot where I was turbo-cising just a split moment ago. He�d lost grip of the straps and went tumbling backward off the machine. Chuck would have been so proud. I could only imagine his embarrassment as I reflected back on my own treadmill incident not too long ago. I laughed, he laughed, and everyone carried on as though it was the plan all along. Whew. �.7, 8, 9, and 10�ok done with that exercise.

What the heck am I supposed to do with that one, universe? What does that one mean, and how can I cheese it out and blog about it? Oh, did you think I’d resist?

Anyone who started a business in 2008 probably feels the same way as I do. The craziness of the economy and the public�s hesitance to try, buy, or move outside its newly restricted comfort zone forces anyone trying to start up a company to be nimble as hell. There is no time at all for wallowing in a �no� or a failed plan. There is no time either to bask in the joy of a successful sales day, a good result, or �what a great business idea� accolades. No� good or bad, high or low, we have to keep moving and doing every single minute of every day. If yoga is full, go to the gym. If a large object is hurling your way, move. Plans are good, but plans can change in a split second and you have to adapt.

I�m looking forward to what 2009 will be bringing.

Rainy Day

One of my favorite things to do is to host parties and gatherings. I love the feel of a room full of people talking and laughing. I love giggling until my eyes water and my belly aches in pain and I�m gasping for breath. I�m a bit spoiled when it comes to being a hostess, I have to admit, because I�ve been cast out of the kitchen for years now by my uber-chef husband who�s taken over the cooking since our son came along. He figured that someone had to do the cooking, and someone had to deal with the poopy crying thing, so he�d take the cooking. Now days, I�m knee deep in 3rd grade math while my husband is preparing dinner, trying to explain how one is to count change back when something is purchased. I�m a little annoyed that this is even being studied, because, first, the chance that actual bills and coins will still be tendered by the time my kid has his first minimum wage job is unlikely, and secondly, the cash register will tell him how much change the customer is supposed to get. If that doesn�t work, use a calculator, or if that doesn�t work, use your cell phone to call someone with a calculator, or heck, but then I�m sure the customer can walk out the door and the RFID in the exit will automatically bill the entire cart directly to his or her Visa.

Anyway, being more or less kicked out of the culinary action of a dinner party has left me in charge of what I call the three Ds: That�s drinks, decorations, and dessert. Today I got to indulge in drink making to my heart�s content, because my coffee roasting shop was filled with a giggling, talkative crowd, gabbing about everything from hair products, to the vice-presidential debate last night. I was on the espresso machine making one cappuccino after another (which I might say had about a 90% �good foam� success rate, which is not a bad rate for simulteaneous talking and foaming). I informed everyone that if they talked to me while I made their drink that it would take twice as long to get their beverage. I think this may be due to my uncontrollable need to flap my hands around as I talk. It�s genetic, I�m sure of it. People didn�t seem to care much about the speed, though, so I had some wonderful chats with some people I�d never met before.

This group happened to know each other pretty well, as they are the local masters swim club that swims together 5 days a week. Many of them regularly spend a few minutes after practice sharing a cup of coffee at the clubhouse. Today, I invited them over here, although I�m not myself a swimmer (something about staring at a tiled blue line while going back and forth trying not to suck water into my lungs every time I gasp for air just doesn�t work for me. It could also be related to my flapping hands issue�I�ll have to research that). I can see how much fun they have together, though, and loved being in the midst of this joyous crowd who seemed to relish in the simple pleasure of hanging out and sharing laughs.

It must be the slightly rainy day today, or this morning�s unexpected phone calls from a couple of missed friends that got me thinking about this, but I find that so many people just don�t make the effort to visit, call or make simple connections with others. We get so busy that we delay the phone call or email invitation. People make the lamest excuses, like thinking their home is too messy to have visitors, or they feel weird about inviting someone over who they don�t know very well. I think that�s crap, honestly. You�re really not that busy, and no one cares if your house is messy, and you don�t have to make a Food Network masterpiece. If you have friends who care about the mess in your house, or the quality of your meal, they suck. Find new friends.

I wouldn�t be honest if I didn�t say I realized today that this is the biggest joy of the business I�m in. I love that a simple invitation, with a simple little drink of coffee and milk can bring people together and fill us up more than anything else we may choose to do, this week or any other. I�m one lucky girl.
******

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Thanks for a Good Time

Roaster hooked up, website done, space organized, green coffee delivered, espresso machine working, occupancy permit approved. Finally after all this there was only one thing left to do yesterday�.. roast coffee! Game on. Right around 9 a.m. I pushed the 3 button startup sequence on my roaster�s system: �drum�, �blower�, �gas��.�gas��..�gas� �.�gas��.um, yeah, that�s not 3 buttons, that�s 6, and the pilot won�t light! Read the rest of this entry »

89% Guy

I have the keys to the front door of my new space! In the past few days I�ve been busy (with the help of family, friends, and hired hands) prepping the roaster area (which arrives today!), building counters, and re-painting walls�.Yes, that�s what I said…re-painting. Read the rest of this entry »

Just a Tiny Giggle

I have a constant running joke going on in my head as I take in the quirks and comedy around me, even in situations that aren’t quirky or comedic, like, say, the Olympics these last 2 weeks. Impressive athletes, every one of them, but isn’t there something just too funny to ignore about the gymnastic dismount salute, or the fact that the US relay team didn’t hold on to a 1.5″ inch stick, as though they’ve had no practice with objects of that shape? Just saying. Read the rest of this entry »

The GPS

Girls from Idaho mostly aren�t fantastically savvy big city freeway drivers. I can point my mountain bike straight down a trail and hit speeds that might make some people puke, but there�s something about bobbing and weaving between 5 lanes of traffic while going well above the 65 mph speed limit that makes me a little uncomfortable. I was on my big adventure to visit my coffee supplier last week, though, so I sucked it up and became best friends with the voice on my $9 per day GPS. If you don�t know where you�re going and the digital voice inside a plastic box that�s plugged into your cigarette lighter can tell you how to get there, listen. She knows�you don�t. Read the rest of this entry »

Two Hands, Stupid

Have you ever fallen off a moving treadmill? I did this once. Not that it was actually falling �off�, but it was more like an attempt to get �on� the moving apparatus that caused the situation. It�s not often that I find myself jogging at the gym on the treadmill. It�s something I save for frigid winter days when there�s no option to go outside for a little ski or something. Anyway, there I was about 3 minutes into my jog, completely annoyed that I was watching Gun Dog: Bird Hunters on the TV with an out of range remote control in my hand. Bugged by my inability to control my environment, I stepped off the moving treadmill to walk up to the TV to get the thing to change to something more appropriate, like today�s Oprah, for example. Should I have asked the man 2 treadmills over if this was ok? Maybe, and this is probably why karma took control in the next moments. Read the rest of this entry »

Ta-Da!

Most people won�t refuse free cookies or free coffee, but thank goodness my highly polite friends, neighbors, and work colleagues were willing to give the garage coffee in the little brown bag a try. Some of the roasting attempts tasted great and some tasted downright boring. The quality of the green coffee beans that can be purchased by home roasters over the internet is as uncertain as Brittany Spears� behavior, but none the less entertaining to roast and try. Read the rest of this entry »