I am excited. National Coffee Day will be here soon. If you have been reading FINNICKY for a while you will know that it doesn’t take much for me to be ‘all in.’ If you missed this celebration in years past, be ready to raise your mug high on September 29th. My problem is deciding the right location to celebrate. There are choices, choices and more choices. Do I go with a national chain, or do I rejoice at a local café? How much sleep do I really need? Will I be too wired to drive? Even my favorite bookstore sells coffee, so I need to make a list and approach this decision systematically.
Last week, I noticed the sign for a new coffee spot and stopped in to see if this could be one of my regular coffee and cake destinations. Nope. I am too old, and too out of style. Please note, I am happy with my age and with my style but the new shop was carding people at the door to make sure no one came in who was over sixty. I sneaked past and went boldly to the counter to place my order. The décor was light and bright and attractive, with a lot of white, and beige and live green plants. I like this. A large muscular man took my humble order for one medium coffee and a piece of carrot cake. He then dramatically whipped up my drink while I stood wondering if adding steaming water to coffee beans isn’t the same as instant coffee. When asked how I wanted my coffee I naïvely replied, “Milk and sugar please.”
Why do I think that if I am paying $3.00 for a small coffee, I should be given the privilege of adding my own milk and sugar? I like adding my own milk and sugar. In addition to providing me with a sense of empowerment, this enables me to get it the way I want it. I am then told that the milk going into my cup will be Oat Milk. They do not carry dairy. Taken by complete older generation surprise, I repeated the words in a tone that is usually applied to the word ‘poison’. “Oat milk?” I ask in shock, “Poison you want to give me poison?” “Yes,” Replies the bodybuilder. While trying to wrap my elderly brain around Oat Milk, I am thinking, “Look it’s a cup of coffee, not a gourmet experience, what am I doing here? I experienced a quick flash back to the two girls who took my order at the donut stop. They gave me dairy.
On the way out, I noticed a small sticker on the side of the cash register Post Milk Generation. Ooooh..this is serious. In my futile effort to not offend people, I avoid social havoc and do not call the white liquid that I prefer ‘cow’s milk.’ I use the less offense term ‘dairy’ milk but apparently that is no longer good enough. Now I know that if I prefer dairy milk and do not want Oat Milk I am stepping into a stereotypes that makes me shudder. Old, grey, hunched over, wobbling in “Oats? oats …did you say oats in my coffee? Cow’s milk, I want cow milk, young fella.”
I have made up my mind about Sept. 29th. I will play it safe and get my coffee at the gas station. They give me my own packets of sugar and little containers with a white liquid that once upon a time maybe came from a cow.
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