“Kein schaum bitte”

It was rather blue today – I walked out decked in blue and the sky was a clear blue and although I was unexpectedly jubilant about being back, I felt rather blue and blue about feeling blue!

I turn to coffee when I’m upset or feeling all sorts of misplaced. As I uncomfortably gulped down dinner, I knew I could deal with everything and anything with a coffee in hand. I was silently jubilant when we made our way to the coffee shop, fine well knowing how I was feeling, what I really wanted, what I really needed and what the reality was. I also knew, as sure as the sun is to rise in the East, I needed a cup of coffee and I would be as good as new. Even with all that was going on.

The question “What would you like?”, in all languages, I believe has a profound weight. For the person asking, there is a certain degree of submission and compromise. Sometimes leaving the questioner in a vulnerable state where s/he has to cater, unwillingly. For the person at the other end of the question – the ultimate answerer, it’s equally difficult. There is almost always a tug of war between how much can I ask and how much is right to ask. Questions usually arising from the uncertainty of the sincerity and the rightness of the situation, also from not wanting to burden upon the questioners comfort.

As the two of us sat down, and both us very decked in blue, we were approached in due time with the question “what would you like to order?” I clearly said to her that I wanted a milk coffee with no head. So effectively, a wet latte. An order I know exists and is not rocket science, albeit a little different, to cater to. She smiled and assured that I’d be able to feast on such demands, I smiled and waited in eager anticipation. The remedy to the car crash of a feeling so difficultly laced with a smile and a ringing laughter.

I knew the trouble brewing when I happened to turn my head and saw her “transport” my cup of coffee whilst clinging on to the rim. I already knew I would have trouble gulping, still, it was a cup of coffee. I smiled looking at what I was served, picked up the spoon and measured the head – yes, the head on my supposedly headless cup of coffee. As time rolled towards leaving, I paid and she looked at the cup that was full. I am sure with the explanation that a centimeter of froth does not constitute for a standard wet coffee to “keep it warm”. She wore her displeasure on her face, I in my civilized exchange of money and no tips OH YES, and a full cup of coffee.

As we left, I was told how my choices are a cause for inconvenience because they don’t exist on the menu. Me asking for them is me being particular, fussy and special – I think the word that was used was a “Princess” with “choosing”. As the words came flowing out, I huffed in despair, anger, resignation and helplessness. When it was my turn to speak, I couldn’t muster the words, “I really wanted and needed that cup of coffee – my way.” After an entire day of asking the other what s/he would like, I didn’t think it too much to ask for a cup of coffee to hold my hand, to comfort me, to reassure me. A silently spoken therapy session in the midst of the thick of life. Amidst the happiness, sadness, joy, despair, hope, surprise, shock etc of a full day, how dare I be so bold to think I could be regal and ask for a cup of coffee made to my one specific point of preference?

“No froth please!”