I’m a sucker for being a regular somewhere. In Durango, there were places where the bartender or waitress knew me and I didn’t have to place an order. They would just bring me my regular. Sometimes I would be in the mood for something else, but I love being a regular more than I love what I’m in the mood for.
I think that is why I strive to take care of my regulars at the shop. When I was a barista, I had a professor who would get one or two double lattes–if he tried to order them himself, he would screw up the order. He would tell me one or two, iced or hot, and I would take care of the rest. It’s been five years and I still remember his order. Another set of three professors would get a mocha, a cup of coffee, and a cappuccino. Unless I had sumatra, in which case the cappuccino would get fill his thermos with Sumatra. It was fantastic.
Now, I’m becoming a regular at The Daily and Tommy is my waiter. I’m not sure if I always sit in his section, or if he now takes my table no matter where I sit. Tommy tries to chat with me, but I find myself totally tounge-tied. Part of being a regular for me is when I mistake good customer service for romantic interest. I’m trying to keep that in check, as I don’t want to lose my local over mistaken romance. I also keep switching my order, which is making things hard on Tommy. He came to my table with my soda and I wanted a Newcastle, but he’s trying and I adore that.
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