Supervision

Today's post involves my friend Karl. Karl is a fellow barista of mine, and he's fantastic and precious. Now I know that perhaps I overuse the term "precious," but really if there's one word to sum up Karl and/or his family, it is "precious."

Karl reminds me a lot of my baby bro, Riley. They are both the babies of their families, very smart, interested in literature, bright eyed and bushy tailed, musically inclined, hang out with cute, smart girlfriends, etc. etc. Both of them are just downright pleasant and fun to be around. Karl graduated from high school this weekend, and today I attended his graduation party.

Now. Karl's family. Karl's dad (Eric)? Pastor. My dad? Pastor. Eric comes into Starbucks just about every other day, at least, always pleasant, kind, but certainly with a vein of sarcasm in him--today when I said I needed to use his bathroom, he said "we don't have one." Then upon entering their bathroom (because for those of you who don't pick up on sarcasm very well, they do in fact have a bathroom), I was pleased to find a vintage South Shore Line train poster featuring the Lake Michigan Dunes, holla!! But I digress. Recap: Eric. Sweet. Loving. Nonjudgmental, Jesus mentor, coffee lover, sense of humor. Loves all baristas.

BONNIE. Wow, Bonnie (Karl's mom). Sweet beyond sweet. Seasoned culinary artist. Published author. Ray of sunshine. Sweet. Pea. Bonnie.

Today I had the pleasure of meeting another member of the Karl family. G'pa. That's right. Bonnie's daddy.

Picture with me this: A van pulls up to Starbucks (I was working, behind the counter, to help you visualize your perspective here). Woman driving (presumably Bonnie), older gentleman exits the passenger door, plaid jacket, i.e. his Sunday usual (I assume, and for the sake of this story we're going to assume this is the case because it's better that way). Van drives away (this is an important detail, take notes). Older man saunters in, heads directly to the newspaper sale rack. Eyes the local publication, gives it a little sneer, says quietly, "they said you guys would have the New York Times," and returns it to the top of the stack. He shifts his attention to the excessive coffee menu above my head, and I divert the man's attention back to the paper. "Are you looking for the NY Times?" I ask. "What?" He didn't hear me. ... I explain that we usually sell out pretty quickly on Sunday mornings, and that we are probably out. He is hardly listening, he's over it. He wants to talk coffee. "What's the difference between a mocha and a latte?" I explain. He has trouble hearing me, we take our time getting to our decision. He decides on a latte. I ask if he would like any syrup, vanilla, hazelnut. "What do you like?" he asks. I set him up with a traditional latte, sans syrup.

"Do you guys know Karl?"

"Yes, we love Karl!"

"I'm his grandpa."

"HI!!!!!!!"

Precious man sits with latte and inferior local paper, girl baristas whisper about his cuteness. Approximately 15 minutes pass. Old man gets up to leave. Gives some sort of "holla" goodbye greeting. Okay, so he didn't say "holla," but I wish. More excited chattering about the cuteness. (It is at this point that I stop and wonder, "how is he going to get home? I didn't see the van come back to retrieve him. Hmm...")

...Time passes, frappuccinos are made, business as usual. In walks Eric. Uh oh. Where's grandpa? Eric asks, "Is Karl's grandpa still here?" (He actually said that. "Is Karl's grandpa here." Not, "is my father in law here?") Uh oh. We're in trouble. We didn't watch him!!! "No..." my voice trails off. Eric considers this, turns to leave. This is odd, Eric never comes in just to say hi, unless he is picking up Karl from work (go ahead and say it: "awww").

"Did you lose Grandpa?" I ask.

This is the BEST part of the story, pay attention.

Eric looks at me, his face so hard to read I have no idea what's about to come out of his mouth. It was part dad, part pastor, part customer-who-loves-all-his-son's-coworkers, part silly, and part Bailey's-a-little-bit-terrified-of-Eric-right-now-and-she-doesn't-know-what-to-do-with-that-because-she-never-thought-she'd-feel-that-way. After cocking his chin in towards his neck, at an angle, with a father-to-daughter, "Bailey, you know you shouldn't steal cookies from the cookie jar" look towards me, he says,

"Did you lose Grandpa?"

For a split second I honestly thought I was in trouble (kind of like the way I thought maybe there wasn't a bathroom in his home. Just kidding! Man, you people who can't read sarcasm are so easy!). "I just let grandpa walk out of the store, I knew I didn't see the van outside, I should have made sure he knew the way home!" When Eric laughed, I became relieved, but let's be honest. I wasn't entirely sure Grandpa was okay until I saw him later at Karl's graduation party, in his precious cardigan, holding a glass coffee mug in his aged, wise hands, not a care in the world.