I looked that man with the magnificent beard dead in his eye, and with a steady hand, my finger slowly squeezed the trigger…
“House coffee please. Fill it up!” I said, putting my travel mug on the counter.
“Sir, we only sell our artisanal coffees in 4oz and 6oz sizes. We don’t think people should treat our single source brews like so much swill to be consumed by the gallon.”
“Fine!” I smiled cordially, “Three 6oz coffees, in that mug.”
“I can’t do that. It goes against my principals.” replied the cashier. “I’ll ring you up for a single coffee.”
My mug, barely a third full was dutifully returned to me, my wallet $3 lighter.
“The reason that people drink Starbucks is directly because of pretentious pricks like you.” I smiled.
“I can’t deal with this.” fumed the cashier and minced sulkily away.
I snatched the whipped cream pump from behind the counter (they also serve hot chocolate), up ended the pump over my mug and squeezed the trigger until the top of the mug exploded with artificially inflated sugar that some people refer to as “whipped cream” if whipped cream were to ever be dispensed by a racing stud in heat.
I pointedly placed the dispenser back on the counter, the ice cold can clicking as it touched the marble.
I sipped delicately from my mug, my pinkie finger extended.
“Best fucking coffee I’ve ever had.”
The scream from the little schoolgirl and his admirable facial hair could be heard clear across the cafe and all the way out to the street.
So today I thought I would try a new coffee shop off of Market in SF that I hadn’t been to. It’s not bad, they use a bit too much whipped cream though.
Monday is shaping up to be a good day so far.