I didn’t even want an almond latte in the first place.
This morning I was running late to work. I skipped breakfast – breakfast being one of those decrepit muesli bars you find hidden at the back of the pantry. I was also running late for the train, another not-so-unusual occurrence.
What made this entire experience worse was the fact that I had eaten half a family-sized pizza the night before, which meant I woke to a throat more parched than the African savannah and a breath that tasted like aged ham.
But I knew that I wouldn’t be in for a rough slump much longer, as I was planning to fill up my drink bottle with water at the local cafe across the road before catching the train. I recall seeing a sticker attached to the front of the cafe window that read, Save the planet, refills welcomed! How lovely, I remember thinking at the time – not about saving the planet, but because the sticker would mean the barista had no right to roll their eyes when I asked them to refill my empty drink bottle, as they always did when I went through a McDonalds drive-thru and asked for the same request. No nugs for me, just water.
Towards the cafe I journeyed, a short 2-minute walk from my apartment. The sticker still stuck to the front window, its edges slightly frayed and the text beginning to blur from the sun’s rays. I stepped inside, the lid cupped in one hand, bottle in the other, with an urgent smile that said, ‘I’m here to save the planet.’
‘Hi there–’ I paused. The barista was new; I had never seen him before. He had a slightly waxed moustache and tiny rectangular glasses like the ones 80s pop stars wore in forgettable music videos, and an apron that had just the right amount of stains to signal he wasn’t exactly new to making coffee.
He stood with an empty cup in his hand, pen in the other. Waiting for me to come back from my silence and tell him what I wanted. A sudden anxiousness flickered through my mind. Don’t be rude, order something first.
‘Latte… almond, thanks.’
He said nothing, just a sigh, as though this was the forty-fifth cup of almond milk latte he had made that morning.
Go for it. Just say it. ‘Oh and can you fill this up for me?’
He looked at me and then at the bottle. Suddenly, I felt I was wearing the wrong outfit.
‘You want me to fill this up?’ he finally responded.
I nodded. It was a simple request, it was glued to the front window. He took the bottle, pinching the sides with his index and thumb like he was taking a germ specimen from a tray in a laboratory.
What a dick, I thought, moving away from the counter and waiting with all the other coffee-desperate plebs. I had just given him $4.50 for a coffee I didn’t want or need, all so he could kindly quench my thirst. Simple. So what was his issue? I looked back to the window, the sticker still in full view, making sure no one had removed it in those few minutes it took me to order.
‘Yep, almond latte,’ the Barista called out.
I walked up to the counter and he handed me back my bottle. It felt empty. I unscrewed the cap to inspect. Steam escaped through the funnelled top. An aroma of coffee. The water bottle was filled with coffee. Umm almond latte anyone?
The barista muttered behind the giant coffee machine to the waiter, a few giggles followed. And there, as I stood like an idiot behind the counter, I heard him whisper amid the clanking of glasses and whooshing of steam: ‘that chick just asked for her coffee in a drink bottle.’
I’m shocked at this point, that I actually felt as though this was on me. That I made the mistake. I left the cafe overthinking the ordeal from start to finish – was I not clear when I asked him to ‘fill it up’? I meant with water, do I really need to add ‘water’ to the end of the sentence for that to be clear. Am I insane here or is he?
On my way to the station, it becomes clear that I could no longer go to that cafe again. For I would be known as ‘that weirdo who drinks coffee, not from a keep cup, but a long cylindric bottle designed for water.’
Humiliated, I was more thirsty than ever. I took a sip of the coffee and burnt my tongue.
