You find yourself in the drive-through line at the Starbucks. You're not necessarily proud of choosing Starbucks over White Rock Coffee or Pearl Cup, but it's early, they're convenient and you're an un-coffee-ed bitch who needs a fix right now dammit stop judging.
You yell your coffee order at the intercom. You drive around the corner to the coffee window and that's when you see it: the car in front of you is rocking side to side, it's jamming out so hard to Jackson 5's One More Chance. The guy in the car is full-on scream singing. And then you see the barista is scream singing, too. He's handing the coffee over, "Woon't yoooou please let meeeeeee backinyourheart!"
They're so. Happy.
What in the fuck is going on here?
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The barista at this Starbucks, on Northwest Highway just east of 75, isn't just any cool-ass-armband-wearing barista: he's the Singing Barista. And you know this because Singing Barista Dude wears an embroidered apron that says "The Singing Barista." He sings as he takes your order, sings as he gives you your coffee, sings as you leave.
How has this guy not been shot? He sings to people pre-coffee. "Grande brew, we made it just for you!" So much happy. It's beyond too much.
He's full-on chipper at fucking 7 in the before noontime. You want to hate it, but most days you just have to be proud of him for making his job interesting for himself. Grande cheers to you, Singing Barista Dude. You're crazy amazing.