too many words when asking for coffee

Too many cooks spoil the broth.

Too many words may spoil the meaning.

Tipping the balance from perfect description, muddying the clear pool of clarity.

So, I needed a coffee. Not just any coffee (and I couldn’t face the walk to Costa’s all the way down the end of the high street with heavy bags fast hobbling (we are in a rush).

So I choose a small Italian sounding cafe a bit closer, they must know what they are doing.

So, not granulated coffee, no. Most cafes have machines and frothers now. This looks ok.

A dark shot of quick intensity.

I only have five minutes I tell the Italian looking man behind the counter, nicely, (is that possible for a person needing coffee quickly?)

Coffee makers and hairdressers need not be offended before they provide their service.

I would like a coffee please.. half way between an espresso and a cappuccino.

A small cappuccino,

A tiny cappuccino

An espresso with a little milk and some foam

A macchiato but a bit more than a macchiato?

A macchiato is just espresso and foam? (Macchaito is not listed the converstation is lulling on my side here)

I need a little more, I’m not hard enough to have an espresso but a minute cappuccino, an espresso with a little milk and foam

I have no inclination or time for a milky cappuccino I muse in my mind.

He understands.

I understand he reassures.

Oh, can I please have one sugar? I like it mixed into the coffee shot so as I don’t break the foam .

I sit outside and roll a cigarette. excited. Anticipating the hit of coffee before my next moves of the day.

A short break. An interlude.

I wait. My time is wearing thin.

He brings me a small cup heavy with liquid covered in froth and a spoonful of sugar piled into the froth and sinking down.

It will take more than five minutes to drink this.

With sinking heart I take a sip.

Hot brown water light on coffee

Sweet, with excess sugar in the froth.

Disappointed and deflated. I missed my chance.

I find a corner to tip away the offending hot sweet liquid so as not to offend.

I’d thought he’d understood. He must have just nodded in agreement at my plaintive coffee demands.

I leave, fastly hobbling with my heavy bags and no coffee hit.

The rain starts to pour lightly.

I suddenly wonder how many breaths ive wasted trying to describe the indescribable only to be utterly disappointed.

Next time, I’ll ask for an espresso.

 

 

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