“death of a latte” …

“death of a latte” …

six white ceramic mugs
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

Intro: Some of the names/details may have been changed to protect the reputation of the participants but the core facts remain in this tale of utter woe and suffering (relative to the situation, which I found myself within just the other day).


So in my workly travels I might stop at a local watering hole (read coffee shop), I quite like strong and bitter coffee, so I was off on my way to Hempstead NY and stopped at the local, well, let’s call it “Starbox” coffee establishment (do not want to infringe on any copyrights after all, savy?), nothing seemed amiss in the LED light-washed down faces sucked into local vortexes, or at least this is not a miss if not the main in this day and age (maybe I am showing my age?), but more to the meat of the matter, I approached the counter, which can always be a puzzle in itself, which side do I go to? is this the line? is this person nose dove into their phone in line? what came first the coffee bean or the egg? I managed to find my way to the ordering type area, almost unaware of the signs (oh the signs) up on the registers, quite hand written (is that still legal), announcing that (warning: if you have small children please have them leave the room) the fancy coffee maker thing-a-majobber (or barista enabler mechanism) is quite broken, how could I not notice this semi natural disaster in the wake, this tsunami of disappointment brewing on the horizon, as I blythely ordered a large dark roast, I only noticed these harrowing words of torment as I awaited my hot cup of goodness (read: caffeine delivery system), the situation was brought more to a dancing bear under my nose by the next in line (poor soul), as he tried (in earnest and with great seriousness) to order some sort of latte, or frappucino, or hell-if-I-know, but whatever it was, it sounded impressive, but only to be shot down like a burning angel cinder, like Icarus himself so close to touching the fiery ball that rules this corner of the great milky way (boy I am glad our galaxy is not named whatchamacallit), I stood amazed, for a moment, at the spectacle, and how deeply felt the blow of the non latte was felled upon my fellow coffee house traveler, and on cried the fraught lad, lacrimonious roar throughout mocha frappa-land, and then as if guided birdboxly into yet another pit of iron rusty spikes he asks “does that (pointing to some perfection looking sandwich thing) come with vegan bacon?”, almost with a quiver in the delivery knowing his hopes are crumbling like so much a mountain in end times exploding, and then with another cold rebuke the answer comes handed down with ultimate thunder “no” (it seemed to echo forever and more)…

immediately the air seemed to escape from the room, surely the temperature dropped precipitously, all light now eschewed by utter doom, what is that poor lad to do in such withering circumstance? (not to mention those gathered in the twitter unison circle)
I felt the recoil, the urge, the itch, first corners turning, “I can not laugh” I think for a moment… but surely my growing, glowing cheshire grin revealing my burgeoning delight, amid the wash of this assumed morass of perceived category 5 dilemma, so with that, before I spilled guffaw right there all over the floor, I routed my route to the escape door, large dark roast in hand content with a spritz of stevia, a dash of cinnamon and the subtle kiss of non fat milk (from a cow of consent), grinning in all the splendor of wading through the casualties of this coffee house disaster. I will not look back and become a pillar.

(exit, stage door, enter car, back onto the belt parkway for work, take a sip, enjoy)

Thoughts, comments and all else is always appreciated, I bow to you O reader with thanks and commons.

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