Cawfee Shop…
Don’t drink the stuff unless it’s caffeine-free, fat-free, lactose-free, coffee taste-free and it’s foamy like a latte, or ‘a whole lot of money for a whole lotta’ nothing’.
Other than that coffee and it’s culture is dead to me.
Maybe that’s a little harsh.
All I know is my house stinks of stale coffee most of the time because the husband grinds his beans (‘why I ‘oughta grind his beans!’) down to two scoopfuls of cawfee grounds, then adds a mug and a half of water then lets the machine cook it down until it smells bad. It seems to have a sensor for bad smells because just when it starts to stink a loud electronic beep sounds four annoyingly long times to announce it’s finished over-cooking the liquid. The longer it sits on the barely heated element the stinkier it gets. The husband rarely remembers to shut it off after he pours out his one cup of sludge leaving the other half a cup to fester for the day. Needless to say the smell stays, hangs onto everything, everywhere.
I’m a tea drinker, generally, normal, black tea dust in a round bag tea drinker -scent-free.
Today for the first time I sat with a friend in a neighborhood coffee shop. It’s part of a chain of coffee shops that will survive beyond global warming and the apocalypse because even fried and dyed Canadians will still want their double double (two creams, two sugars). I had just finished telling this friend that I didn’t know anybody who frequented this coffee shop when the first of several people I know came in, said hi, or waved. I was very surprised first because I don’t consider myself a coffee shop type of person but these people acted like seeing me there was a normal part of their day. “Tea time again?” they could have said, it was that natural. I kept trying to qualify how really rare it is for me to be there but people kept dropping in, chatting with me and briefly catching up. The bigger surprise was how I felt about these neighbors in the community who were thoughtful enough to acknowledge me and how in five years I felt like an accepted part of this friendly community. I felt… proud as I waved and smiled and turned back to my friend and the hot tea in front of me. She laughed and raised an eyebrow like she doubted I wasn’t a regular in my regular hangout having my ‘usual’ regular tea (bag in, with milk). It was a real Canadiana moment for me, one I won’t forget for a while for the aforementioned reasons but also because after sitting inside that place for an hour the pungent smell of stale cawfee has permeated my clothing, skin and hair and I smell ljust like my new hangout, the cawfee shop. SO glad they banned smoking indoors.
