Barrister Barrista

2007 was not a good year. In February, my father was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. In October he was dead.

By December, I could not continue to function as an attorney. In between composing my letters and declarations, I found myself surfing the Internet. I became addicted to shopping for a business to buy: fast food, clothing, electronics store, sail boat rentals, arugula farm... Each one promised a fascinating, care free, new life.

By February, Scott and I began our move to Kona, Hawaii, where we had just bought a souvenir shop. Bad as 2007 was, 2008 was worse. The economic downturn went into a spiraling freefall and we lost the business. But, my coffee and chocolate supplier asked me to take over operation of his coffee shop in downtown Kailua-Kona, and all of a sudden I was a barrista.

I had never worked in a coffee shop before but had frequented many. My dad was an espresso addict so we had spent lots of time sipping cappuccinos and lattes in trendy upscale coffee spots. I knew what I liked and I liked good coffee.... with lots of cream and sugar.

Learning to operate a coffee shop has a quick but steep learning curve. The equipment was big, black, and imposing with shiny silver knobs and spouts. This was serious stuff. I learned to grind beans, measure the coffee, brew big pots of black gold. This was Kona, whose volcanic soils, cloud cover, altitude, and sunny days brought forth some of the most sought after and expensive coffee in the world.

This could be fun. I learned to make cold coffee drinks: iced coffee, iced lattes (actually a misnomer but that's another story), and frappes. Unfortunately, the espresso machine was not operational. No problem, if anyone asked for an espresso drink, "Sorry, our machine is down". And customers took this well. No one was offended or threatened to report me to the state bar for sanctions.

Every October, Kona hosts the premiere Ironman event in the world. This one is the mecca for all serious tri-athletes. The course consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bicycle ride, and a 26.2 mile run through tough ocean waves and moon like lava-covered terrain. For one week,around ten thousand tri-athletes, trainers, sports media, and entourage descend upon this little town whose center, heart, and soul was our dinky little pier. All at once, our quiet streets were packed with bulging, biceps, quads, calves, and triceps. The Speedo clad strutted around next to the aloha shirt and Bermuda shorts crowd.

The night before the Ironman event, Fix-it Frank showed up with my new espresso machine. "Now you gonna be a real coffee shop", he announced. I didn't know I wasn't. He fiddled around with washers and hoses and birthed a steaming, spouting, machine that espressed, and frothed, and scalded. Very imposing, but he showed us how to press buttons, turn knobs, and make espresso. We stayed at the shop up to midnight, getting ready for the next day. Hans, our part time help, promised me he had worked in restaurants and coffee shops and knew everything to know about the barrista business. We would meet at the shop at 5:00 am the next day, to prepare for an onslaught of customers. Our shop was steps from the start and finish lines; we were practically ground zero.

At 3:00 am, my eyes flew open. A disturbing thought jolted me up. "Scott!" I poked my deeply snoring husband. "Do you know how to make cappuccino?!"

He grunted, peered at me through one bleary eye, "hrnnngmphno", he slurred, and rolled over back to sleep.

"We're screwed!", I thought, as I stumbled out of bed to the laptop where I entered, "How to make cappuccino". Angels sang as pages of coffee sites appeared. I began my predawn research. One part espresso, one part steamed milk, one part froth. We can do it. I went back to sleep.

Two hours later, I am perched behind Scott on our little red moped, clinging for my life as we wind through the traffic barriers into town. In the 5:00 am dark, we can make out crowds... throngs of people, carrying chairs and cameras, making their way to the start line. All in need of some kind of caffeine.

We snuck into the shop but people followed after us, tapping on the glass doors, "Coffee? Coffee?"

"Don't open yet", I told Scott. "We have to practice!"

We took turns steaming and frothing until we could hold our waiting, caffeine starved customers off no longer. Scott opened the doors, and the lines formed. "Double, half-caff, skinny caramel! Single cappuccino non-fat! Double Mocha latte!" I ground, espressed, steamed, and frothed. Scott ground, espressed, steamed, and frothed. We served espresso dairy mixtures. Lord knows what we were making, as we capped drink after drink. The lines were long and there was no time for complaints or even tasting their drinks as customers hurried out the doors to catch a good spot for the start of the swim event.

Then the lines disappeared. "Come up to the roof!" One of the other vendors shouted to us. "Everyone's watching the start! Just close up the shop and come up!"

So we locked the store and went up on the rooftop balcony of the Kona Inn Shopping Village and saw before us, one of the most glorious sights of Kailua-Kona. Thousands of swimmers were bobbing in the bay. Thousands of spectators were standing on the beach and sitting on the bay wall. Helicopters and emergency boats were hovering and floating nearby. The sky was blue and cloudless. The sun was warm and golden. The energy was electrifying. Then the loudspeakers quieted, the Hawaiian prayers were chanted, the conch was blown, and the race was on.

We reopened and actually had some time to think about what we were doing. Hans never showed up (I found out later he had determined I was too bossy). We made more cappuccinos, lattes, and mochas although I seriously suspect that every drink we made really was a latte, some indeterminate mixture of espresso, steamed milk, and froth. But the Ironman was on. Everyone cheered all day long as athletes clambered back onto shore, got on their bicycles to ride out towards wind-blown Kohala, and then tossed their bikes away to run down through Kona and past our shop to the finish line. The athletes continued past the shop till midnight, panting, sweating, some limping. One had a prosthetic leg. All who finished were victorious. We felt victorious too.