Coffee, coffee, coffee...all morning long we serve coffee. All morning long we have to ask if you want cream and sugar. You have probably never pondered what it would be like to ask that 150 times in an hour...it's not pretty. Why do people wait for us to ask how they want their coffee? When they go to Starbucks do they say "I'll have coffee"...and stare comatose as if posing for the creation of their wax body double? Do they say "coffee", then snap open their Sunday paper like an umbrella turned inside out by gale force winds? Starbucks says there are 19,000 ways to order their coffee. We don't have the extensive menu or flavored syrups etc., but there are still options to choose from. Please...help conserve the nations' supply of Prozac- and inform us if your personal vision of coffee includes more than just java.
Even worse than the newspaper in our face response is one which inspires daydreams of bodily harm. "Black", they say- when asked how they take their coffee...apparently affected by short term memory loss as to the existence of that white substance they have shoveled into their morning beverage for twenty years. After we have served a few more rows of passengers drinks...an inevitable tug on the sleeve or faint mutter of "Miss...Miss...(or hey...hey...) could I have some sugar?", comes wafting over the seats, landing in our ear at the precise time a whole row of drink orders has just checked in for their "short stay" in our oxygen deprived brains. Black coffee you see, is coffee in its raw naked nothing to hide form. Black coffee with sugar is like adding a dress- sweetener, some heels. Nudist colony/a night on the town...get it?
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