Why America is Doomed

I'm no different than the average person in that when it comes to corporate America vs. an entrepreneur, I root for the little guy. With that in mind I try to support local coffee shops whenever I can, be them in my old neighborhood, my old stomping grounds or other places I have haunted.

With that in mind I have made three stops now at a place not far from my house called the Global Cafe. The barista has this whole stoic Scandinavian thing going on. I have no idea if she is the owner, because she doesn't smile, strike up a conversation or even say "Boo" to me, for that matter. The last time I went in there I ordered a mocha, which was given to me unstirred (All the chocolate was stratified at the bottom).

I don't think that I need to explain to my sophisticated readership that an unstirred mocha is the bane of long distance commuters such as me. Unable to resist, I cruise along, drinking the more bitter upper strata. Just as I become accustomed to the flavor (Mentally conditioning myself into thinking that I am merely sucking down a latte or something) - Without warning the mix becomes pure chocolate. It's like what I imagine Augustus Gloop experienced in Charlie and the Chocolate factory when he fell into the chocolate river.

Did I mention that I played Augustus Gloop in a 4th grade adaptation of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? It's hard getting any other roles, once you have played a fat German kid. You're typecast. You're that fat German kid. Good luck trying to convince anyone that you could be The Artful Dodger. I was finished, washed up. My acting career was over at 8 years old.

This morning I tried the Global Cafe for the third time. I pulled up to the drive-through and had to use the conveniently located doorbell to get attention (The parking lot was empty). I again ordered a mocha from the wooden-faced barista. A few minutes later she tried to hand it to me but instead of taking it I asked, "Could you please give it an extra stir for me?" For the first time in three visits the barista displayed an emotional response to my presence. I wish now I could tell if it was shock or disbelief. "I just did stir it!" was her quasi-petulant response. "Yeah, well, last time my drink had all the chocolate at the bottom." (I didn't bother explaining what the concept of an "extra" stir meant) She took my money and disappeared through the window. A few seconds later she popped back out and handed to me my change, my drink ...and a stir stick. A tentative sip confirmed my worst fears: stratified.

:::Sigh:::