Coffeeshop Grind: A Horror Story

Parking is typically minuscule — but that is what subconsciously drives you to enter. This frustration may even be the precedent that pushes you to make slight adjustments in your day — things such as waking up earlier to beat the morning rush.

You’re in; and the hard part is over. That is, unless, you’ve never been here before. New territory. New energy. Different baristas. Different ordering layout. This is the hard part, you say to yourself. Depending on where you’ve ventured to this time, you may be so overwhelmingly engulfed in everything offered that you forget your main purpose for arriving: Coffee. Internet. Maybe an escape to your usual home office i.e., the four blank, cold bedroom walls that envelope you into a day of unproductive and mindless tasks. You ask yourself: will this be the coffeeshop that welcomes me? Or makes me feel like a traffic cone because I didn’t know what I wanted the moment I walked in?

Whichever the instance, here is where you stand: A Coffeeshop — your escape; but what you thought was a small mixup in your daily routine has now morphed into mental frenzy. Chaos and parking lots have ruptured your patience and basic expectation for the human world: no manners, no systems, just people mechanically ordering their watered-down caffeinated water — except they call this an Americano and they charge you $4.25 for it; and for what? To watch you squirm, of course!

They know your weaknesses. They can smell it on you; you almost reek of freshman to their atmosphere. Your capability to make the simplest, measured decisions? Questioned. They love this. So much, that they feast off your absent intelligence when it came for your time to order. They have a power here, you see, an upper hand that can only carry the strength provided by espresso via I.V.; and it only grows stronger when you ask the dreaded question: What’s the Wifi password?

You fool. Only an imbecile would spend twenty minutes of unprecedented anxiety (formed in the parking lot) well before entering to be asking such a heinous question. You should’ve known your order upon walking in, you feel them somehow scathingly sear into your little brains that are deemed uninhabitable here. You waited seven-persons deep, just to have your decision-making skills shattered into ordering what you knew you didn’t want: drip coffee.

You hate drip coffee. No one orders the black soot. But you’ve been compromised, you see. Your intelligence lacking; and newfound anxiety has engulfed you — so powerfully so that your next trek has blindsided you: finding somewhere to sit. Ha! You idiot! This wasn’t even your true tribulation!

Your suffering has only begun, you hear them once again whisper. Your next challenge? Try to find a seating with an outlet nearby.

You snapback into reality after this entire course has had you seeing red for what has only been five minutes; but has damaged your trust in basic Consumer Operations so immensely that embarking on this trail has blazed you with fear.

You’ve sweat so much — more than you ever have thus far in life; and you realize your stomach has been in knots for what feels as if eternal. You’ve never felt this before — you realize it could have only been the backwashed soot-poison you’ve been tricked into thinking was good for you; but you have just succumbed to the most painful climax of this fearful endeavor: espresso sweats.

You decide to storm out — leaving your laptop charger forever intertwined with the sick, twisted world you once thought a new coffeeshop could never be — it’s Their’s now; and cutting your quest off well before it can challenge your weakened conscious any longer.

You come to terms with the new fatal, unprecedented reality created by this culture for you, this is your life now — what you thought was just a harmless travel you didn’t think you needed to Yelp before embarking.

Defeat. Exhaustion. New anxieties trump and hinder any future establishment experimenting you thought you could ensue.

In shortness of breath, you speak into existence your fateful conclusion to your chaotic, caffeinated quest:

I’m a Starbucks person now.

The End.

Categories: barista, blog, coffee, horror, short storyTags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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