The barista waited semi-patiently behind the counter, behind the cash register, behind her just barely audible tap-tap-tapping on the countertop with her acrylic sparkled nails. She smiled a subtle, lovely smile, just barely on the but-isn’t that-charming side of fake-and-can-we-hurry-this-along.
But I couldn’t decide, couldn’t make up my mind. Caramel macch with all the fixins, or a straight Americano with a shot of toffee nut? Which smell, which flavor, which texture would be the one to really jumpstart my already inevitably terrible day?
I needed a nap, standing here in line on my side of the counter. Or coffee, and since this was a coffeeshop and not my bedroom, I was going to be wild and go towards the caffeine.
"Sorry," I half-apologized, half blew off her attitude. "I’ll take a venti pumpkin spice, no whip." There, that’s it – go off grid, out of the box, out of the rut of mediocrity for my morning jolt. That’s the ticket, the punch I might need to get out of the rut I was eroding for myself.