Barista at the hotel bar

I mozied my way to the lobby bar around seven.  The bartender seemed a bit flustered, preparing his equipment for what would be a high pace shift.  I watched as he worked through a normalized routine; pulling milks out to stock closer fridge, cutting new menus to place in a booklet, timing shots of espresso to taste;  all while his uniform was untidy and his tie undone.  He saw me watching and asked a one phrase question.

"yes?"  

I was practicing a response in my head, and spat it out quickly.

"Una cáffe macchiato per favor."  I stammered.

"Yes."  he responded

He immediately changed tasks, focusing soley on my coffee. With a quick wrist he started banging a portofilter against a hidden metal bar, emptying the old espresso inside.  He filled it with new coffee.  The shot started pooring after the press of a button. He began steaming milk while the coffee drizzled slowly through the filter.  

"Do you speak English?" I asked.

He bounced his head side to side, 

"Piccolo?"  I asked

"Sí, piccolo." he responded.

"How is your night?" I asked.  

He smiled a half defeated smile

"No good."  He said.

He poured the spot of milk overtop my espresso, marking the creamy brown with a soft white foam.

"Grazie."

"One euro." he said, before I could respond to his statement.  

I gave him my euro, and continued.

"Why no good?"

He looked at me for a minute, pausing his work.  His face was unshaven.  A dark stubble covered his sharp jawline.  On his cheeks were several small dots of baldness, scars that don't grow hair anymore I assumed. He looked tired.  Like he needed some coffee himself.  I smiled back at him, understanding.  He still wasn't ready for his shift to start, but here it was.  

I relaxed, watching him finish up his prep. I spoke to several people who approached the bar as they decided what to drink. 

The wall behind the bartender shone with different colors of liquor.  My mind spun. Images of the drastic change in surroundings from the night before flowed. I felt ready to start drinking before dinner. 

The meal would be served in forty five minutes, so I picked up the freshly built menu and perused it as I conversed with the other bar patrons.  

"Do you know crocino?"  I asked a woman next to me.   

She was a small blonde woman with sharp blue eyes.  A pair of bright orange over-ear headphones laid across her collarbones.  She wasn't sure, but the bartender heard our interaction. He put one finger up, asking me to wait.  After a quick spin around, opening up a fridge below the bar, he placed a little orange bottle in front of me.  I studied it in my hands, and quickly said I would take one.  The bartender smiled.

He wedged the cap off, and grabbed a glass from behind him. He turned his back to the blonde woman, glancing over his shoulder like he was hiding what he was doing. The woman smiled at him. Once he turned back around, the glass was full and the bottle was empty.  A slice of orange floated in the orange liquor.  

"how much?" I asked

The bartender shook his head. I thought to myself it must be lost in translation.

I grabbed my wallet, pulled some euros out.

"how much?" I asked again. 

He just shook his head, this time adding a shake of his finger. 

"gratis?" The blonde girl asked him, and he nodded.

 

I laughed.  This is a good bartender.  And a good drink. And a good night.