The Coffee Date

"Just let it go, man," he said.

I couldn't. A man lets go of a lot ofthings in life. Unfair taxes. Unpunished school bullies. Unwarrantedfirings. But the line had to be drawn somewhere and I drew the lineat no sugar packets for my coffee, darn it! I thought this was acoffeehouse, not some third-world slum shack!

I ignored Pierce's desperate pleas tomove on. Sure I could buy sugar at the grocery store around thecorner, but it was the principle of the thing.

I marched up to the barista, a lankyfellow with an arrowhead beard and a number of eccentric piercings.You know the type.

"Now, see here, sir," I began,affecting my most indignant posturing and mannerisms, the kind stolenoff a BBC drama.

The barista leaned over, heavy liddedeyes blinking drearily. He could have probably used some of his ownproducts. "Hey. Sup, man."

I started to express my outrage andthen stopped when I thought better of it. This dead-eyed wage slavewasn't going to get me what I wanted, especially after failing thefirst time. No, I needed to attack higher up the chain.

"I demand to speak to your manager!"I said, punctuating the sentence with a slap across the counter.

The barista gave another half-speedblink. Then his eyes widened with realization. "Oh! You're the newguy! You're the dude she said to send up!"

I blinked back, caught off guard."What are you-"

Then the barista had me by the arm, astrangely powerful grip dragging me into the back of the shop.Desperately, I looked to Pierce for aid, but my failure of a friendcould only shrug and shake his head helplessly.

The barista shoved me into the middleof a strangely extensive hallway, a plethora of office spacesbranching off and stretching out into the labyrinth depths of thecoffee shop. I had only a moment to ponder how a place barely thesize of a gas station bathroom managed to warp reality to fit allthis, when the barista began to wail.

"Miss Jones! Miss Jones!" hehowled, cupping his hands around his lips. "The guy! He's here tosee you!"

"Be right out!" came the ringingreply, slightly muffled by the fabric coated walls surrounding us.

The barista gave me a warped smile."She'll be here in a minute, my dude."

"Er, is this Miss Jones themanager?" I asked, desperate to convince myself I was stillsomewhat in control, that I still had a paddle in the river for thiswhitewater tumble.

"Yeah, yeah," said the barista.Then without so much as a courtesy nod, he slid off back to fail atcustomer service and coffee creation, leaving me entirely at themercy of the halogen glare above and the supposedly approaching MissJones.

Accepting my situation, I rolled myshoulders and drew myself up again, ready to spout my justifiedtirade on proper management of coffee improvement supplies.