The barista who took my soul.
And the bowel misery that ensued.
One fine day, I went for my usual morning stroll.
Sweaty and tired, I decided to make a stop by the local cafe to get myself a cappuccino.
The barista looked at me with its judgemental eyes and proclaimed, “You look more like an espresso person”.
“What might cause you to make such observation?”, I curiously replied.
The barista chuckled and said, “I don’t like people who drink cappuccino”.
It was a fair opinion, one I respected, so I inquisitively meandered “But what does my consumption of a lovely, frothy, cappuccino have to do with your dislike of individuals who tend to prefer the beverage; apart from the monetary exchange, of course. Since the cappuccino clearly costs a $1.50 more than the espresso”.
The barista looked at me with amazement and responded, “Clearly, you’ve misunderstood. I just don’t like individuals who prefer a frothy, heart shaped, foamy cappuccino over a bitter and simpler version of the beverage; an espresso”.
“Well that settles it then, I’ll no longer consume a cappuccino, bless your heart dear barista”, as I consumed the bitter and quite distasteful beverage; I thought to myself “What a lovely time to be alive, I just saved a $1.50 by purchasing the beverage of choice to please the barista”.
Only later I would find myself, vomiting alongside uncontrollable diarrhoea.
I would go on to complain to the barista next day, of the poor opinion of the barista’s dislike of cappuccinos and of all the bowel misery the choice had cost me
The barista looked at me, yet again, this time not with a look of judgement but one of disgust and dismissiveness; “I don’t like people who complain”, said the lovely barista.
A lesson was learnt, one that I’ll never forget; never let a barista dictate my choice in caffeinated beverages.
