To drink or not to drink

It seemed I was the first patron to enter the coffee bar early that morning in October. The tables were still devoid of people; two staff members of Chloe Cleveland's were pretending not to be all too noticeably bored by the lack of custom, and were busy arranging or wiping things. Amongst the things to be shuffled, put straight (even when they'd been perfectly acceptable before), rearranged (in spite of a previous arrangement having been quite all right), wiped or dusted off a bit (even when they had looked flawlessly clean, at least from a distance), were dozens of cups of different shapes, sizes and colours.

(Microsoft Media)

The topmost shelf board consisted of mugs rubbing brims, all handles neatly arranged in that they all pointed to the right, touching over its front the neighbouring cup that was always of a different colour. There were two different shades of green, violet, orange, red, a sunny yellow, some buff of sorts, at least, these are the ones that spring to mind in hindsight.

The board underneath that topmost one was filled with cappuccino cups, all sitting on saucers, and they all had a millimetre or two of space between them. They, too, were very neatly arranged, almost as if they had been put there by means of a template or some kind of positioning device. Their handles, too, pointed to the right. It all reminded me a bit of Egyptian wall paintings.

(Microsoft Media

The pattern was continued by the espresso cups in support of the Egyptian impression on the following shelf, under the cappuccino cups. The arrangement itself, handles to the left this time, cups on saucers, was clearly consolidated by the very same colour scheme, the only difference being that the saucers actually touched each other. It had to have something or other to do with how they ended up filling a single shelf, completing a row.

I couldn't help noticing all this, while I was hard at work reading all those fancy names and checking the prices. And I could see that one of the baristas watched me from the corners of her eyes and might have been hoping I didn't turn round on my heels to get out again.

I didn't. Yet I put myself at a bit of a distance from the counter to study the price list and must have put on a not overly encouraging facial expression so that I was left to myself for the time being. It was clear yet again that the coffee prices in town were not among the lowest of the country.

(Microsoft Media)

It took me a while to make up my mind - which included the possibility of a decision in favour of, in fact, swinging around and leaving - about all those lattes, macchiatos, espressos, long blacks, short blacks, cappuccinos, soymilk instead of cow's milk still having to be paid extra, and I must have pulled a particular face at that one. The slow selection process allowed for thinking of a certain roadside café where they didn't, by contrast, charge extra for soymilk.

The urge to have a cappuccino eventually outdid the unwillingness to spend four dollars for it, and I approached the counter, setting one of the two young women in motion, who looked at me asking "Are you right there?" If I hadn't known this generic question all too well, I might have wondered "in my head"? Right enough, though, to be willing to pay four dollars, and, as it later turned out another thirty-five cents for a regular cappuccino? I was really beginning to have second thoughts.

There are four different sizes of pretty much all sorts of coffee, except for the espresso that's naturally smallish, and the short black that cannot be bigger without becoming a long black: small, regular, large and extra large. The difference in size between small and regular is noticeable. Expressed in price, however, it's just forty-five cents - try that in percentage of the whole expense. To have an extra large cup - a cardboard one, with a plastic lid, that you can shuffle to a table with or simply take away with you - you then only pay another sixty odd cents, but the cup is enormous. That's a marketing strategy.

(Microsoft Media)

My idea of having a go at an extra large cappuccino was however too close to someone in fear of drowning, which is why I was happy to save those additional sixty cents and be satisfied with a slightly overpriced regular cappuccino but the added benefit of being sure about managing its size.

I took the cup, paid for it somewhat grumpily, and then decided, instead of sitting down at a table, to leave Chloe's place and her friendly staff, and let them continue arranging, rearranging and wiping the cups on the shelves.