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I Lived It: My Wilcaf Barista Wasn’t GAY Enough to Be Making My Drink

Photo By Erin Ma (34th st) / Edits by Faresi

To whom it may concern, staff of Wilcaf, and otherwise:

When I show up to any chain coffee shop, I honestly don’t ask for much. All I want is drip coffee to calm the voice that speaks to me every morning. I don’t want sugar. I don’t want one of nine possible alternative milk options. And I sure as hell don’t want any artificial flavoring. I want coffee as black as my soul from a corporation whose soul is as black as mine.

But Wilcaf? And the other queer-coded cafes in Philly? I go there for joy. When I buy a drink from Wilcaf it comes from God’s money, it does not drain from my paycheck. It’s chalked up not as a work expense but as a life expense, it is my birthright. 

So, you can imagine the heartbreak. You can imagine me on my knees, tears dripping from my eyes, looking up at God for an answer. The person making my drink was not visibly queer... I was shocked, très shocked, and all I could muster the strength for was a deep sigh and a shaking of my head. I walked out with the worst made chai of my life and with unrivaled disappointment. Under my breath, a slight "tsk tsk" could be heard.

What should I do with my straight Wilcaf barista? What the FUCK is there to do with a barista if not subtly flirt with them and walk the line of potential??!?! I will never not weep for this, and I will be bringing this up to the dean. Whatever happened to DEI? Where are the conventionally attractive gay boys? I was promised and yet no deliveries were made, whatever happened to brand identity?

I need my $9 Matcha made by a faggot. Please. Wilcaf, you are killing me, darling. If you are an 8.5/10 gay or bisexual boy, please apply to work at Wilcaf. There’s a shortage.