|So I’m in line for coffee at 6:10am and it’s already long with only one register open and, of course, everyone in front of me is ordering one of those frou-frou so called “coffee” drinks. |
The guy at the front of the line has so much mousse in his hair it’s a wonder he doesn’t sprout antlers. “Give me a grande, non-fat, half-caff, blended, no foam, triple shot, iced, vanilla, chai tea latte,” he orders in a matter-of-fact tone.
I sigh; it’s gonna be one of those days.
“A venti, no whip, double decaf mocha thingamabob in a double cup and a sleeve,” demands the woman wearing skintight biking shorts, even though there isn’t so much as a handle bar in sight.
I notice that no one says please.
A dude wearing sunglasses (it’s still dark out, for cryin’ out loud) asks for: “A double tall rhumba frappaccino, Babe, with two spoons and three straws. Not too cold, now…and easy on the rum!”
Hardy, har, har. Morning humor. I wish everyone would get the hell out of my way.
A drop-dead gorgeous redhead saunters up to the counter. She has on enough jewelry to sink the Titanic. Aware that the rest of us are watching, she tosses her mane about for affect and chews on her glossy lower lip as she ponders the big board looming over her head. “I’ll have…a grande…no a venti…no a grande in a venti cup, frozen carmel mint mochiatta¾shaken, not stirred, with a dash of buttermilk and a sprig of parsley.”
By now it’s 6:25 and I am simmering. I decide that I’m going to tackle the next person who orders a cranberry maple-nut scone.
A short, dark, intense, brooding fellow says, “Make mine short, dark, intense, brooding cappuccino. And give me one of those smiley face cookies too.”
My eyes are gonna roll right out of my head.
There is only one person ahead of me. She requests: “Five espressos, each one just a teensy-weesny more full than the next. And could you be a dear and stack them on top of your head and sing I’m a Little Tea Pot just because I said so?” She turns to the pastry case and scrutinizes the selection for a full eight minutes while a yawning employee stands patiently by with her forceps and little wax-paper bag at the ready.
Finally the employee asks, “Can I get you a pastry?”
The woman looks up and replies with sickening sweetness, “No thanks.”
I want to strangle her.
At last it’s my turn. The guy at the stainless steel monster asks, “Can I stir a drink for you, sir?”
It is too much for me to bear.
“No, you may NOT stir a drink for me!” I respond way too loudly. I glare about the room at the incredulous faces. “I came in here for a cup of coffee, dammit! Coffee! Do any of you even know what that is anymore? It’s a ### beverage. Comes from a little bean. People drink it to help them wake up in the morning. Ringing any bells in the old steeple? Hello?” There is dead silence¾the only sound the hiss and gurgle of the espresso machine. They’re thinking that I’m going to pull a gun from my leather jacket and spray the room with non-fat, no-whip, decaffeinated lead. I turn back to the appalled young woman at the register who has suddenly gone deathly pale. “LARGE COFFEE! HOT! CARDBOARD CUP! PLASTIC TOP! ROOM FOR CREAM! TO GO!!…please.”
All eyes follow me as I load up with half-and-half, doff a small salute, and exit in triumph.