Cream? Sugar? Humiliation?

I like coffee. This is no secret. Over the years I've spent a small fortune on coffee from convenience stores, coffee makers, coffee shops, coffee bistros, diners, wherever you can spend money on coffee, I've done it. My current city of residence has more than it's fair share of places that are willing to enable my addiction. Despite the plethora of indie coffee spots that are available to me, I've been hesitant to take a seat in more than a handful of the establishments for fear of the unavoidable pretentious coffee culture that has a habit of following them. A few days ago, I was privy to just that displeasure.

I wish I knew how to quit you.

Growing up in rural West Texas, my experience with coffee is based on the humble Mr. Coffee that is as much a part of my parents morning ritual as water is to all living organisms. On their excursions for morning breakfast outside of the home kitchen, the coffee came from the commercial maker in whatever divey restaurant they deemed most agreeable. So, when I came of coffee age, 13 or 14, I mirrored their choices. I liked coffee hot, and black. Sugar and creamer were for the same kind of people that wore ties and spent money to get sunburned in a booth or bed. Years later, I dated a girl who worked in a real coffee house and in a way of bucking the regulars, I drank "cowboy" coffee and scoffed at the offer of cream and sugar. I still drink coffee plain, but I do it because I started to enjoy the flavor of the coffee, as opposed to just drinking it out of habit or to look more adult.

Now, I can appreciate some of the subtleties that different kinds of coffee can present, and even though I still pass on the sweeteners myself, I don't judge those who partake. I started to branch out from the 7/11 and cheapest on the shelf type. Granted, there's nothing really wrong with either of those, but there is a difference between them and something designed to deliver hints of cinnamon, or chocolate that costs a bit more. My journey started with the big chain coffee places. For a guy from the middle of nowhere, the 'Bucks was a pretty cosmopolitan experience. Coffee choices beyond regular and decaf? Cold coffee? Sweet coffee confections? Too much, too much. A large regular will do me, brother. Three dollars!?!? Alright. Eh, it's coffee.

When I came to nest in my current residence, I was already pretty deep into the coffee culture. I listened to coffee podcast, I occasionally French press, I own a Keurig, when Babs (her names isn't Barbara, I just started calling her that one day) and  I went camping, a brewing device of some sort was an absolute necessity. But I just couldn't bring myself to walk into one of the myriad of coffee places around me. They all seemed so, trendy. Too trendy, too serious about what they were doing. I know there is a certain amount of professionalism that goes into being a real coffee brewer, but at the end of the day, it is just coffee. It's not a cure for cancer, it's not ending world hunger, it certainly doesn't stop birds from desecrating my car (you'll get yours bird). So don't make it out to be that. When I did finally order a cup from one of these intimidating establishments, my experience wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible. I fumbled my order from the confusing menu, the barista was a little annoyed with me, but we got through it. This gave me the courage to branch out a little. That courage was quickly crushed.

Riding the high from my first excursion, I ventured into a coffee place just across the street from the first one. It took me several weeks, but I eventually got up the nerve to check it out. I've worked a lot of retail in my life, I mean a lot, so I'm used to a certain amount of people being people. This place took that to a new level. Immediately upon entering, I was not greeted with a smile, but rather a scowl as I presented an annoying interruption to the man behind the counter who was actively engaged in a conversation that was a long winded complaint about someone's ordering process involving large quantities of coffee beans. When I was acknowledged by more than dirty looks, the gentlemen gave a exasperated shrug at me, indicating he was ready for me to order. Coffee, for here. A steamy mug was served up with little said and certainly not a smile. Okay, it happens, I had bad days too. It was downhill from there.

The other barista on duty was busying herself conversing with a group seated at the counter. The discussion revolved around regulars and people who aren't. The barista said, I wrote it down because it was so over the top I wanted to be able to quote it, "if you're not a regular, I don't give a shit about you, I'll never see you again." I shit you not, I was there. They all laughed. That's cool, everyone is entitled to their opinion. The hits kept on coming, though. She went on to say that people who use Groupon are awful, commenting that she has not accepted their vouchers before by feigning ignorance on their policy of redeeming them. I tried to ignore it and occupy myself with the newspaper. Her conversation with her group was only broken by those annoying customers piling up at the register periodically. Then, a gentleman came in asking for permission to post on their bulletin board. This is where things got particularly nasty.

Shoe soles are the only souls this group possessed.

This guy looked like he would blend seamlessly into the crowd of skinny jeans and screen printed v-necks, but he made the mistake of bothering the barista who was still busying herself with open complaints to her pals. She approached the counter and listened to his request, informed him of where the board was and he thanked her. On his way out, he stopped to show her his flyer. He handed her one and as soon as he crossed the threshold she spun around and began her ridicule of his flyer, his service, his appearance, and him. Her regulars at the bar ate it up, with one jumping off her stool and running to the window because she had to see him. Mind you, even though these sound like the antics of a cliquey group of high school girls, all these individuals are clearly adult, well into their 30's.

I finished what was in my cup, that liquid couldn't come close to the bitterness these folks served up. Just like that my apprehensiveness to patron such establishments came back. As I walked out, I couldn't help but wonder what they would say about me. Whatever it was, I hope they got it all in because they won't get the opportunity again. The mini-mart across the street or my tiny kitchen might not have the best coffee, but at least it's judgment free.