Profiling
M E X I C A N S . They make this too easy. When they were young they were given sweets at every holiday. And they keep that tradition alive by showering their kids with candy. Little gorditos beating papier-mâché animals. Pounding away until their guts bleed torrents of Chiclets. These guys have been programmed to have a major sweet tooth. From umbilical cord to death day they’re hitting the sugar. When you see a guy with tight black jeans and ostrich cowboy boots, better get two bottles of caramel ready. His wife and kids and cousins are right behind him.
Oh that ivory shirt. Here it comes. The way the sun reflects off of those snapping pearl buttons. How it glistens on the tacky black stitching, the accents on his massive cuffs, his Elvis sized collar. When he turns and whistles a secret message to his kids, his entire back is a shrine devoted to the Virgin Mary. There she is in all her glory. The vessel for the Christ child, embroidered on a polyester shirt. He places a thumb under an equally ornate belt. Black and orange strips of leather are intricately woven into Aztec patterns. His name is engraved into a gold dinner plate in the center of his waist. Like he rode here on a mule, he walks with his legs far apart. He hunkers up to the register, pets his mustache. Removing a chewed up toothpick from the corner of his mouth, he starts his order. I know the words before they are spoken.
“Caramello Cappuccino.”
If you haven’t been in this business long, you might be tempted to make a hot cappuccino and add caramel syrup. Technically that’s what he ordered. You try handing him a hot drink and he’ll look at you’re Roberto Duran quitting in the middle of a prizefight. What he actually wants is a Caramel Frappuccino. But don’t forget, hidden behind that coke dealer mustache is an epic sweet tooth. Take the lid off the caramel bottle and just go to work. I’ve found that these vaquero types like it when you cover the bottom and sides of the cup with thick gobs of the golden sweetness. But I’m not racist. I’ve gotten cramps squeezing that caramel bottle. ...
Brian W. Wood
