Three women walked into a coffee shop where I was doing some lunchtime writing last week.
They asked a lot of questions, which would’ve been one of my biggest pet peeves if there had been a line behind them, but as was—an empty coffee shop, sans myself—perfectly acceptable.
One wanted to know if there was turmeric in the Mexican Mocha (there was!).
One wanted to know the dairy alternatives, specifically, a request (politely declined) for macadamia milk, and if the cookies were safe for someone with a nut allergy (they were in luck: that day’s were!).
The third wanted to know if they could go off-menu and make her a London Fog Latte (politely denied), where the baked goods came from (a local female baker!) and if the matcha was…ceremonial grade (unclear…).
*For what it’s worth none were wearing Big Dumb Hats™, but they had that energy.
When they got their drinks, cookie, and a slice of banana bread (I think?—dessert bread of some kind), they perched themselves on a trio of stools and spiritually ooo-ed and ahh-ed over how delicious everything was, before arranging their sipped beverages and nibbled baked goods onto a table for a quick bird’s-eye-view photoshoot.
I happened to leave at the same time they did, and ended up following them a couple of blocks till we got to a street corner with a garbage can, where all three gingerly placed their still-pretty-full (and probably still-pretty-hot) drinks; the ever-so-slightly-nibbled, maybe-banana bread; and the half-eaten cookie that one had claimed mere minutes earlier had changed her life.
Then, I watched them walk half a block up, and go into another coffee shop.
