I showed up at the cafe I've grown to hate at about ten minutes til nine this morning, bleary eyes and all. You see, they have this morning special - "the morning set" they call it. It used to be any tall sized drink and any "bread" for $3, which meant nearly anything under the display case except for the stale carrot cake and various inappropriately flavored cheesecakes. Those were more expensive. I had found in previous visits that most of the pastries were unfulfilling except for the cheapest one.
Named after the cafe, the Kiriya roll came in four flavors. Matcha green tea, strawberry, chocolate or plain. A round, soft yet springy roll with a hardened sweetened exterior sprinkled with sugar was just a dollar. It was simple, just sweet enough and amply sized. Goldilocks would have approved. And all four flavors were good, my choice varied from day to day.
In the beginning, they had a tall sized (medium) local coffee for a dollar. It was by far the best deal that I had come across. This was a very generous medium and could have passed for a large even in America. Well, maybe not. I only needed a third of the black stuff before my vision was amplified and I could see through skirts and leap to the top of buildings in a single bound. But usually I drank at least half and occasionally all of the liquid crack and it had deleterious effects. My vision waxed and waned and I could no longer see through skirts. I was fine sitting in one place, but once I moved around as we are often prone to do, I could no longer function normally in society. For this reason, I tried to limit my coffee consumption to once a week or thereabouts. Sometimes more because I liked the ritual and sometimes less because I was able to feel the tension in my shoulders and rise in irritability before I placed my order.
Fast forward a month or two and the one dollar local coffee had changed to $1.75. Now it was no longer worth buying because I now realized it wasn't that good in the first place. I just liked the price and accepted the taste. It was just a business ploy to get customers in the door and hopefully order some other overpriced foodstuffs. Just like some local bars offering draft beer for 50 cents. They certainly weren't losing any money since a bag of local coffee is pretty inexpensive as are local wages. I understood and respected the decision. Besides, it just meant I would consume less of the black stuff and more of the orange stuff - carrot juice - which was more comforting and less harsh on my nerves.
I had now been coming to this cafe for approximately two months and had slowly been acquiring punches on their point card. After ten, get a free drink. After twenty, get another free drink. And after thirty, get a free coffee mug. Yeah, after all that, get a free mug that probably cost them a dollar. But I didn't have a real mug at home, just a glass and it was something to look forward to, like Christmas on a much smaller scale. I did also like the familiarity of the place even if the interior was relatively tacky and there had been a decline in attractive females working there. That was one of the initial draws, but they slowly disappeared to go work as prostitutes and I didn't know where else to go despite the abundance of coffee shops in the surrounding area.
Fast forward another month. I enter the building to everyone obnoxiously yelling Good morning! I don't despise it, but I don't like it. Yeah, yeah, morning. As I prepare to order the "morning set" I am told that the morning set is now a small sized drink and any bread. Slowly, but surely and understandably the morning set was getting reduced in value. It wasn't worth getting up that early to save fifty cents. Yes, 9am is early. And there was no longer a local coffee on the menu. I understand this business practice, but I don't like it. As I am often lured by quantity (or price in this case) as opposed to quality, there was less and less incentive to frequent this particular coffee shop.
However, after nearly three months, I had obtained twenty six punches on my card and I'll be damned if I wasn't getting my free mug. Just out of principle. My visits were becoming more infrequent and my outbursts to the friendly manager were occurring more frequently. I was having a bad morning a few mornings ago when she told me about the change in the morning set. And like a bubbling volcano, I erupted. She didn't get burned because well, she didn't give a shit and because she didn't understand everything I said. I also wasn't ranting and raving because I like to pretend like I've still got my sanity. I think I said something about the place closing down because nobody would come here and how the boss was stupid. I always try to be as charming as possible.
And now, back to this morning. As I said, I arrived at ten til nine this morning in order to take advantage of their "special." Otherwise, I would have stayed at home for another couple hours ironing out the wrinkles. Today was my 29th punch - just one more until I receive the aforementioned mug of glory. I inquired about the mug out of curiosity to see if it was the standard mug with the words Have a nice day! emblazoned at the bottom of the cup. Indeed it was. But, she told me, I was not eligible for the mug because I had gotten free drinks after the 10th and 20th punches. What!? All this time collecting stamps for naught?
This was all becoming ridiculous. All for a ceramic piece of shit with the logo of a place I had growing discomfort with every visit and quite possibly would never frequent again. Again, it was principle. I want that fucking mug! It said on the card you get a free drink after ten, a free drink after twenty and a free mug after thirty. Nowhere did it say you had to forgo the free drinks in order to get the free mug. I didn't even want the fucking mug! But now it was like a prize I had to obtain. Like those machines where you insert a quarter hoping the contraption inside would push more quarters over the side. Here, I was dropping dollars for this silly mug that essentially became this dangling carrot that I somehow associated with fame and glory. And here she was taking it away from me.
Fuck that! The mug will be mine even if I have to steal a dirty one after consuming my next coffee. I told the morning manager it was ridiculous and that the mug probably cost the company a dollar to make. She said these mugs were made in Japan and therefore cost more. They apparently sold them for $15. I laughed at the absurdity. Even Starbucks wouldn't charge that much for a mug. I kept my cool, not really angry just simmering at the little things. I even apologized for my "outburst" the last time, of which she seemingly had no recollection. She even gave me the tall size coffee this morning.
Well, one more visit and I will know where I stand. I will get my free mug, gosh darn it. And then I will go elsewhere, thank you very much. And yes, I am ridiculous.
Named after the cafe, the Kiriya roll came in four flavors. Matcha green tea, strawberry, chocolate or plain. A round, soft yet springy roll with a hardened sweetened exterior sprinkled with sugar was just a dollar. It was simple, just sweet enough and amply sized. Goldilocks would have approved. And all four flavors were good, my choice varied from day to day.
In the beginning, they had a tall sized (medium) local coffee for a dollar. It was by far the best deal that I had come across. This was a very generous medium and could have passed for a large even in America. Well, maybe not. I only needed a third of the black stuff before my vision was amplified and I could see through skirts and leap to the top of buildings in a single bound. But usually I drank at least half and occasionally all of the liquid crack and it had deleterious effects. My vision waxed and waned and I could no longer see through skirts. I was fine sitting in one place, but once I moved around as we are often prone to do, I could no longer function normally in society. For this reason, I tried to limit my coffee consumption to once a week or thereabouts. Sometimes more because I liked the ritual and sometimes less because I was able to feel the tension in my shoulders and rise in irritability before I placed my order.
Fast forward a month or two and the one dollar local coffee had changed to $1.75. Now it was no longer worth buying because I now realized it wasn't that good in the first place. I just liked the price and accepted the taste. It was just a business ploy to get customers in the door and hopefully order some other overpriced foodstuffs. Just like some local bars offering draft beer for 50 cents. They certainly weren't losing any money since a bag of local coffee is pretty inexpensive as are local wages. I understood and respected the decision. Besides, it just meant I would consume less of the black stuff and more of the orange stuff - carrot juice - which was more comforting and less harsh on my nerves.
I had now been coming to this cafe for approximately two months and had slowly been acquiring punches on their point card. After ten, get a free drink. After twenty, get another free drink. And after thirty, get a free coffee mug. Yeah, after all that, get a free mug that probably cost them a dollar. But I didn't have a real mug at home, just a glass and it was something to look forward to, like Christmas on a much smaller scale. I did also like the familiarity of the place even if the interior was relatively tacky and there had been a decline in attractive females working there. That was one of the initial draws, but they slowly disappeared to go work as prostitutes and I didn't know where else to go despite the abundance of coffee shops in the surrounding area.
Fast forward another month. I enter the building to everyone obnoxiously yelling Good morning! I don't despise it, but I don't like it. Yeah, yeah, morning. As I prepare to order the "morning set" I am told that the morning set is now a small sized drink and any bread. Slowly, but surely and understandably the morning set was getting reduced in value. It wasn't worth getting up that early to save fifty cents. Yes, 9am is early. And there was no longer a local coffee on the menu. I understand this business practice, but I don't like it. As I am often lured by quantity (or price in this case) as opposed to quality, there was less and less incentive to frequent this particular coffee shop.
However, after nearly three months, I had obtained twenty six punches on my card and I'll be damned if I wasn't getting my free mug. Just out of principle. My visits were becoming more infrequent and my outbursts to the friendly manager were occurring more frequently. I was having a bad morning a few mornings ago when she told me about the change in the morning set. And like a bubbling volcano, I erupted. She didn't get burned because well, she didn't give a shit and because she didn't understand everything I said. I also wasn't ranting and raving because I like to pretend like I've still got my sanity. I think I said something about the place closing down because nobody would come here and how the boss was stupid. I always try to be as charming as possible.
And now, back to this morning. As I said, I arrived at ten til nine this morning in order to take advantage of their "special." Otherwise, I would have stayed at home for another couple hours ironing out the wrinkles. Today was my 29th punch - just one more until I receive the aforementioned mug of glory. I inquired about the mug out of curiosity to see if it was the standard mug with the words Have a nice day! emblazoned at the bottom of the cup. Indeed it was. But, she told me, I was not eligible for the mug because I had gotten free drinks after the 10th and 20th punches. What!? All this time collecting stamps for naught?
This was all becoming ridiculous. All for a ceramic piece of shit with the logo of a place I had growing discomfort with every visit and quite possibly would never frequent again. Again, it was principle. I want that fucking mug! It said on the card you get a free drink after ten, a free drink after twenty and a free mug after thirty. Nowhere did it say you had to forgo the free drinks in order to get the free mug. I didn't even want the fucking mug! But now it was like a prize I had to obtain. Like those machines where you insert a quarter hoping the contraption inside would push more quarters over the side. Here, I was dropping dollars for this silly mug that essentially became this dangling carrot that I somehow associated with fame and glory. And here she was taking it away from me.
Fuck that! The mug will be mine even if I have to steal a dirty one after consuming my next coffee. I told the morning manager it was ridiculous and that the mug probably cost the company a dollar to make. She said these mugs were made in Japan and therefore cost more. They apparently sold them for $15. I laughed at the absurdity. Even Starbucks wouldn't charge that much for a mug. I kept my cool, not really angry just simmering at the little things. I even apologized for my "outburst" the last time, of which she seemingly had no recollection. She even gave me the tall size coffee this morning.
Well, one more visit and I will know where I stand. I will get my free mug, gosh darn it. And then I will go elsewhere, thank you very much. And yes, I am ridiculous.
No comments:
Post a Comment