underdressed

I have been meaning to write about this for ages, and finally, with my temp job being extra slow today, have found the time.

Nearly a month ago, F took an Excel class in Tacoma. One of her classmates told her about a local coffee place. F, E, and I decided to make a detour on our way to Portland a few days later in order to experience it.

The coffee place, a drive-thru espresso stand called Hot Chick-A-Latte (which is such fun to say) in the metropolis that is Lakewood, was amazing. It was hot pink; there were long lines (all lone men except for us). As we pulled up to the window, we read on a blackboard that our barista was porn star Heather. (A camera phone picture of the sign is now the image that appears whenever F calls me.) We were expecting her to be in a bikini, as that is the stand’s gimmick, but she was wearing so much less. She had on lacy lime green, transparent boyshort underwear and an apron, nothing more. (Except for braces, which, at least for me, ruined her porn star image. I would recommend 'girl next door' Heather instead.) As she leaned to give us our coffees, we received an eyeful of cleavage. We worried that we would see nipple, but we also worried at the possibility of her scalding herself with so much exposed skin in such a tiny cube of a coffee stand.

It felt too early in the day for so much skin.

And, I suppose is to be expected of a place that markets the baristas looks over the quality of the beverages, my Americano was lousy.