Student story- From the Other Side of the Counter

By Katherine Love

The black-aproned trio leans nonchalantly on the pepper-colored granite during a mid-morning lull in the hustle and bustle of the daily rush.

Jonathon Cole, sporting a black cap and accumulating black whiskers, shares that his band may perform Friday night. The two ladies respond with their plans for the weekend, giggling.

Suddenly, Jessica Lynn Milakis bolts through the wooden swinging door leading to the back room, grabbing an empty water pitcher on her way. The other two follow her lead, straightening their postures and scurrying to the coffee machines, their backs to the main walkway.

Today is not an average morning behind the counter at Caribou Coffee. Not every morning does the president of the company stroll through the building.

Dressed in full black suits and ties, carrying leather brief cases, he and his regime pass without a word.

Seeing that he has passed, the three employees return to their prior stand. Milakis, who arrived at 6 a.m. to redo the bakery labels in preparation for today’s important visitors, warns an approaching co-worker about to start her shift, “No drinks behind the counter. Wear your name tag. We have some big wigs here today.”

A student walks up to the counter and orders a medium mocha. Milakis swiftly punches the sequence of buttons she has memorized on the cash register. She swipes the student’s Cat Cash card, and Cole has the espresso prepared by the time the receipt has printed. So cohesive.

Besides the head honcho, the coffee crew encounters several other uncommon visitors: 200 high school journalism students attending the Flint Hills Publications Workshop. The young mob creates quite a chaotic scene for a July morning in the K-State Student Union. But Milakis, who has worked for more than a year at Caribou, has seen far worse.

“Coming out of class during the school year, a line forms out into the hall and around the corner,” she said.

Milakis, who also attends classes full-time, noted that unlike the college crowd, the high schoolers tend to purchase more frozen drinks than coffee.

A gray-haired, balding man approaches the counter slowly, thick side-burns streaking down the sides of his face.

“Don’t you ever go to work?” Jessica asks, sarcastically.

Donning a gray flannel shirt and navy pants, a ring of about twelve seemingly identical gold keys clinking at his right rear belt loop, the man responds that he is working a scaffolding job.

“Ugh! I don’t want to go to class!” Milakis says, glancing at her wristwatch.

“Don’t you ever skip?” the man asks.

“Oh, I skip a lot. But I just took off for five days.” She continues, “It’s statistics. Me, math, we don’t get along.”

The two continue to chat. Milakis informs him of some recent changes in the company, including opening stores in Hy-Vee grocery stores nationwide and their new slogan: “Eat. Learn. Live.”

“Well, I’ve got to go,” the man says, walking away.

“See you tomorrow,” she responds, slipping a large red purse over her shoulder.

After an eventful morning behind the counter, Jessica Lynn Milakis leaves for class, an adept of the company’s new slogan.

Eat. Learn. Live.

Katherine Love is a junior at Notre Dame de Sion and a student in the advanced writing class at the Flint Hills Publication Workshop.