What’s YOUR Drink Order Today?
I’ve done the math. I’ve rechecked my numbers. I’ve even used my trusty slide-rule and I come up with the same answer – how complicated a man’s coffeehouse drink is, is in direct correlation to the size of his ego. The bigger the order – the bigger the ego.
… In a rare early morning coffee house line up this morning I found myself standing in line with all the other need-a-caffeine-fix losers. They are a jumpy lot; looking at their watches and patting down their out-of-the-shower comb-tracked hair. They smelled of toothpaste, Ivory soap, cheap perfume and too much aftershave. AAAccckkk!!!
Standing in front of me was, Mr. ISI (I’m-SO-Important) donning an impressive array of communication boxes on is belt. You know the type; we’ve all seen him before. He’s wired for sound: Bluetooth, Blackberry, et al. These are the folks who can’t seem to get through a complete half hour without talking to someone. Well, most of us in line were shaking for our caffeine-shot. Mr. ISI, true to form, was loudly yammering on and on about some it-can’t-wait-til-I’m-out-of-line deal. We may not have noticed Mr. ISI were it not for his loud, obnoxious voice and counter-clearing arm waving.
Mr. ISI finally made it up to the front of the line (still on his Bluetooth) and orders a… wait for it… a mochalattefrappacappacino, extra hot, with a double shot of arrogant entitlement, half foam. Remember the ego to drink correlation? I rest my case, find more about this. He wandered away to the sugar station to load this undrinkable concoction up with organic sugar, non-fat milk and a cinnamon sprinkle. He sipped his drink then gave a subtle fist-pump. Spare me.
Since this is an equal-opportunity coffeehouse, the women aren’t off the hook here either. (relax guys!) A gaggle of 20-somethings giggled and arm-punched their way up to the counter. Heather, Tiffany and Brianna, all with over-processed blond hair extensions, too-tight clothes and naval piercings, finally ordered their drinks…
Heather will have the latest winter concoction: A pumpkin-spice latte/cino. Is this coffee, I wonder? Heather dear, why don’t you just do a face plant into a bucket of molasses. The sugar content is about the same.
Environmentally-conscience Tiffany angled for a cup of organically grown tea harvested by sterile, pygmy ape-people, imported directly from Madagascar. *** snore ***
Brianna, (my hero) ordered a cup of coffee. No pretense. Just coffee. She drank it black, thankyouverymuch! I’m officially welcoming Brianna into my close-knit Sisterhood – even if she did have an ass of steel and no cellulite.
Ya know… watching the early morning coffee orders is almost as much fun as watching weekend fishermen pulling their boats out of the water at the launch ramp. I want to be there with big 1-10 score cards and play Rate-a-Jerk.
I’ll bring the bean dip.