I watch people coming and going. Every day they walk into through those glass double doors, order their venti chai latte with a double shot of espresso and sit in the corner, aimlessly scrolling on their phone. Or one will walk in, jump up and down, squealing wildly with their friends about the latest guy that’s available for dating.
Don’t get me wrong, I date. It’s just … been a while.
This thing is, everyone is so high maintenance. Just like their coffee. I see it day in and day out working at the campus café. My brother says I’m picky. I’m not picky.
I don’t understand what the big deal is about ordering a mocha caramel blended with a floating shot of espresso, covered in whipped cream. Or someone who orders a half-and-half cappuccino chilled to seventy degrees before reheated to one hundred and eighty degrees with a dollop of foam.
I just want a simple girl. One coffee. Small. With a splash of cream.
The cream is important. It adds a little extra. Nothing crazy or outlandish, but it shows character. The liquid, mildly drifting back and forth like clouds of milk. It shows … sincerity. The coffee drink people order tells a lot more about someone than people think.
Take this girl that just walked in. She’s gorgeous. High-set cheekbones and caramel-brown hair that falls to her shoulders. She’s incredible. Gray eyes, and as she gets closer to the counter, they look like there’s glitter sprinkled around them. Who knows what she’s majoring it, but I know what she’ll be ordering. Some kind of high-maintenance, extra shot, half-calf, with a sprinkle of cinnamon and one and a half packs of fake sugar. I’m already trying to fight the eye roll.
“Hey, what can we make for you?”
She smiles. Here it comes. “Just a coffee, please. Small.”
“Small coffee …” It’s supposed to come out as a question, but it doesn’t.
She nods. “With a splash of cream.”
“A splash of cream?”
“Yeah. It always reminds me of little clouds.”