You have to feel a little sorry for the lady. She had endured a 30 minute line, with no roller coaster at the end. She had a child with her, and a coffee too. For most cashiers, the former would draw comment. Something like "cute kid" or "what's her name?" perhaps. But this is me, and my attention went straight to the cup.
"What are you drinking?" I asked.
"Oh," she said, "coffee."
"Well yes. I can smell it. And it does smell lovely. But if I recognize that cup, you got that at The Merc. I was just curious which coffee you got. I had the Ethiopian Harrar earlier. I love African coffee in general, Ethiopian perhaps more than most. But with most beans from that region, you get high acidity, which I like, but this was interesting in that it lacked that. It was roasty and smooth, with just a little grainy or nutiness to it. More like something from Latin America. It was really interesting."
She did not quite make eye contact with me. You have to give her credit for that, for hiding the "WTF" face she surely wanted to make. "Dark roast," she said. "I just grabbed the one on the left. I put cream and sugar in it too."
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