Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Coffee Shop Diaries

A series of events that would go into my coffee shop diary, if only I had a coffee shop diary.

[Dear Diary,] Today I was standing in line to order my daily coffee from the coffee shop by my office and the guy standing in front of me ordered a "coffee with cream and one lump."

The first thought to enter my mind was something along the lines of, 'Is this 19th-century England or did I just hear you order a lump in your coffee? I think you might want to hop into your time machine, rev up the engine and hightail it to the 21st centry where people order coffee with a couple packets of Splenda.' (Like I said, it was the first thought. Don't hold it against me. I don't use Splenda either... But, I do think Time Machines are the ultimate luxury vehicle.)

Right after that, some nasally-voiced impish lady walked by the counter and knocked a candy display over onto the floor. She looked at the floor, looked up at the cashier, and then looked back down at the floor, before declaring that, "Umm, I just knocked these over." She looked as though she had just shat her pants. What to do? The cashier looked at her as if to say, "Yes, I can see that. Pick them up, bitch." The lady just stood there staring at the cashier until, annoyed, the cashier batted the imp away and assured her that someone would clean up her dirty mess. "Someone will be right around to wipe your ass, lady. You just go relax."

On my way out of the coffee shop, I walked by my winter coffee shop (I change seasonally as my winter shop doesn't offer iced coffee). The Arabic owner of my winter coffee shop clearly doesn't understand my intentions for switching it up on him and so he glares out of the window at me daily as I pass by with my little brown bag-o-iced coffee. I pretend not to notice, but I indeed feel his evil eye in my periphery. Not being able to take it anymore, today I decided to go in and buy a banana from him. They're only 35 cents and I was hungry. I felt the urge to explain my non-commital nature to him; to justify my sudden dissappearing act, to assure him that I'll be back around come October, but all of these empty compulsions dissipated when after I put my banana on the counter, the owner uttered the words, "Forty. Cents."

This is the winter coffee shop guy. Seriously.

What?! That bastard raised the price on me as punishment! I could almost hear him chuckling as I pulled out the extra nickel. "Serves her right," he probably thought as I took my half-rotten banana and walked to my office.

Do these things happen at Starbucks? Just curious.

[Talk to you later, Di. Love, GiGi]

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