It was Monday before work. I walked into my local coffee shop to find a long line at the counter and lots of cars in the drive through lane. Two harried baristas were trying to keep up with the demand.
I had a crazy workday ahead of me and was craving my favorite comfort coffee: a half-caf, extra hot 2% latte with three pumps vanilla and caramel drizzle.
Before I joined the line, I lingered at the food display, trying to decide if I should also grab some breakfast. That was when she pushed past me to join the line.
On the phone. Talking LOUDLY.
“Don’t even! I don’t care. What does ‘emotionally unavailable’ even mean?!”
This went on for at least five more minutes, ignoring the glares of others in the line. She finally reached the cashier, who raised her eyebrows and said pleasantly, “Good morning, what can I get you?”
Her finger shot up as if to say, “I’m on the phone here!”
The tension grew steadily. The cashier waited patiently as more customers joined behind me. I admit, I raised my eyebrows too, but not in a “good morning” way. Everyone was watching this weird standstill.
A very long minute later she disconnected the call with a “Fine! We’ll talk later!”
In a fast, angry staccato tone, she engaged the cashier: “Extra hot. Oat milk. The good oat milk. Four pumps vanilla, two full, two sugar free. Cinnamon steamed in. No foam. Maybe light foam. Drizzle of chocolate, drizzle of caramel. Not heavy and messy! Light drizzles.”
The cashier noted it on the cup and then rang her up, wrote her name, and passed the empty cup to the baristas. More than a few eyes rolled to the ceiling. The woman plodded away, checking her phone and grumbling.
The cashier turned to me with a defeated sigh. “What can I get for you?”.
I thought of my craving. I really wanted that drink. But it didn’t matter that my order wasn’t exactly like hers. It was similarly enough to make it feel, make me feel, like I was hammering
the cashier a second time.
So, I decided to bload.
“Just a tall drip, is fine. Maybe with room for milk.”
She took a deep relieved breath, then rang me up with a smile. I made eye contact and popped a ten into the tip jar. When they called my name, someone had written “thank you!” and a smiley face under my name on the cup.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll have that comfort latte. But for today, watching the change in the faces behind the counter perked me right up.
As for that customer? She asked them to remake it twice while I sipped my perfectly delicious drip coffee with milk, sugar and a bit of vanilla powder.
She sure missed her chance to bload.