Coffee Fantasy


I really want someone in a coffee shop to know my name. It’s a weird fantasy I have that I probably got from watching too many TBS sitcoms as a child. I want to be a regular. I want to walk in from the cold with a chunky, burgundy scarf up to my neck looking flustered, but when I get to the register everything would be fine. “Robin, the same today?” “Oh? yes Remi,” I’d reply. I’d be the next in line, but still feel caught off guard. “The same.” Remi would be 32. He’d have a mop of curly hair and a sleeve of tattoos. He would tell me one day that he dropped out of Brown because he wasn’t feeling it anymore. Being an english major had lost its luster. I don’t know why the barista in my mind has to be an ivy league drop out with tattoos, but it works.

I started going to the Starbucks by my house a lot. I do realize that if I want to meet Remi I probably should stop going to Starbucks. He would never work somewhere so mainstream. Anyway, I started going to Starbucks and ordering the same thing. The first step has to be routine. I get a blueberry scone and a tall caramel spice apple latte. To my surprise, this Starbucks started heating up my scone. It tastes so much better. All this time I’ve been eating cold scones never knowing they can be served warm. The little things.

Today I went to a different Starbucks by my school. The barista was overweight with short, dark hair. Nothing like Remi, but I could work with him. I ordered the usual. I wanted to tell him to heat my scone, but it just sounded too pretentious. How could I first order a scone and then request that it be warmed? In three minutes I heard a voice shouting, “tall caramel apple spice!” That couldn’t be mine. He had to call me by name not by drink. He wasn’t following the script. I ignored him until he made eye contact. “Hey! Tall caramel apple spice!” I jogged over. “Sorry,” he said. “I never took your name.” He was ruining everything. “Robin,” I said. He didn’t really seem to care. I’d have to find someone else to cast in my coffee fantasy. He didn’t fit the image anyway.

When I reached for my scone I felt how hot it was. He had warmed it up without my asking. Maybe I’ll go back tomorrow and try again.


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