The Café & the Coif
A short, short story.
Every café is a bit different. First you have the massively overrated coffeehouse chains that pride themselves on what they used to be and sell the public the severely tasteless alternative of their “classics”. These are your Starbucks, Coffee Beans, and Peet’s. Then you have the third wavers, the artisan crafter of the coffee bean. They take pride in the coffee they are brewing. They understand the coffee bean. They do not dare serve a cup of coffee if it did not take at least ten minutes to prepare. They are the hipsters of coffee shops. They’re very, how would you say it, ‘café nouveau’.
And I sat there, in this particular café nouveau, stunned by my surroundings. It was hard to tell if the people in attendance were coffee connoisseurs, there to take a quick pic of their fancily decorated lattes, or there to “check-in” whilst the local band was playing karaoke renditions of top 40 hits. Sarcasm aside, it was actually quite an interesting, and commutable, café. Commutable was key. It’s hard to find a good coffee shop in my town, let alone one that actually cares about the coffee they brew. There is the Peet’s in the newly renovated Valley Shopping Center and the Starbucks near the Lucky’s grocery store, but they’re extremely congested by sweaty suburbanites that could care less about what they’re drinking. But this café, they provided the craft and care that was necessary for quality coffee drinkage.
As I carefully sipped my latte I noticed that the coffee wasn't the only thing appealing about the café. The local band playing on the makeshift stage was incredibly captivating and even more-so when the coif-haired hipster began singing. His voice was sweet, soft, and demanding in a way that was perplexing. He offered nothing special with his vocals. They were simple and the songs he sang were basic, but he commanded the coffee-fiends in a way that took notice.
Oh shit, he’s the barista!
Indeed he was, and instant attraction ensued. Before that moment he was the simpleton who brewed the lattes and plated the scones. But now, he was sexy. It makes so much more sense why people are attracted to rock stars. First of all they have that voice, second they have that swoon-worthy gaze, and third they have incredibly flattering lighting. If only he looked to his right towards the hidden corner with the raggedy leather chair that was barely supporting my weight. Sadly, his attention was directed towards the crowd that was actually looking at him with admiration and not with googly eyes inappropriately wondering how good he might be…um, nevermind.
He announced the last song of the night would be to all the lovely girls in the audience. It was adorable to hear him talk to the crowd as if he were at a large concert venue full of obsessed fans who would appreciate this sentiment. In actuality, there might have only been around three or four females in attendance.
He began singing and my heart dropped. “You’re always on mind/Instilled in my heart/You’re always on my mind/Although we are apart,” he crooned with such sweetness that resulted in a pool of melting hearts. His eyes gazed towards that dark corner and our eyes met. There had to have been some sort of connection the other day after our hands slightly grazed as he handed me the Havana Latte. I knew it!
The band finished their set and the contented crowd slowly dispersed. He walked away towards the main counter where his friends congregated, not even noticing the girl attempting to make aggressive eye contact to incite a reaction. Being a victim to hopeless romanticism is truly the worst thing in the world.
He must have felt some sort of energy surrounding him, quite possibly the wafting pheromones, because he turned around with a look on his face as if he had forgotten something. Our eyes found each other’s and surprisingly no one involved fainted. He smiled and said the most beautiful word any girl would be excited to hear.