Very Good Advice, #01: Medium Drip Coffee
dear bijan,
every morning i go to a cafe around the corner for my coffee. more often and not this one barista is working. I'm there so often and we so obviously know/recognize each other that i feel obligated to maybe introduce myself or be like "how's it going" or maybe share continual threads of our lives to chat about in the 1.5 minutes during which i order coffee from him?
At the same time this seems like a big commitment and i don't know if i'm ready to take it there yet. I don't know if I trust him, you know? I'm trying to read him for signs but he kind of gives me this half-smile that seems kinda smug and i can't tell if he's like smiling b/c he wants to be chatty pals or because he can read my mind and knows how much i'm over thinking our interactions?!?! i wish could draw it to show you the tilt of his smile.. maybe you have a professional artist who could render it base on my description it's like a combo of :) and :/ and it's very confusing. please halp me
- medium drip coffee
ill illo by Hallie Bateman
Dear MDC,
First of all, thanks for writing in! Giving advice isn’t a very hard job, but we do rely on our readers (“content cows”) for our continued existence. I might address that in a following letter, but odds are I won’t, because I don’t feel the need to justify anything to anyone. Moo!
Anyway, on to your letter: You state that there’s “this one barista” who’s working when you get your bourgeoisie worker drone fuel (“coffee”), the dude who, when he’s behind the counter, enacts the role of worker/servant (“subhuman supplicant”) as a fundamental part of the master/slave dialectic solely for your pleasure and benefit (i.e., convenience). Here I see why you might want to acknowledge this man’s humanity, but to be honest, I don’t think there’s any reason to! This might seem counterintuitive, as he’s clearly a fellow member of our species; however, how do we know he’s not deceiving you entirely? How are we to know that he’s not an extraterrestrial or, like, a commie? Can you really trust the testimony of your eyes? I think we both know the answer to that.
In my professional opinion, I’d say it’s crystal clear what your course of action should be (especially in light of those deviant smiles, which I’ve gotten our in-house professional to illustrate). You need to leave town immediately. Leave in the dead of night, but not under a full moon. We all know what happens then. The “barista” will probably track you. He is a bat-demon, and he wants your blood—or, at the very least, a kidney.
So no, I don’t think you’re crazy! He wants to be chatty pals with you because he wants to erase you from existence. More concretely, before you flee, I’d advise you to coat your undergarments in fresh goat’s blood to ward off any other evil spirits, because they’re like STDs: If you’ve got one, you’ve probably got at least six others! MDC, I wish you the best of luck. You’ll need it, if you’re not to be dragged to hell. Smile!
All that said: There is a chance the barista—if that’s indeed what he is—is human, and wants to be chatty pals for reasons other than amateur phlebotomy. This is something we all struggle with: Other minds are fundamentally black boxes, and we’ve only got a limited set of data to work from, their actions. Do his smiles seem friendly, for all their smugness/smirkiness? You obviously recognize each other, and, as psychology tells us, proximity is one of the main reasons we start relationships. MDC, I do think you’re overthinking things. The question here isn’t really about trust; it’s about guardedness—but what would it cost you to offer up a “how’s your day been?” or a relevant observation (“omg it’s finally spring!!!”)? Nothing, nothing at all. If he responds, you’ve got your answer.
And hey, everyone likes a regular! Just remember to tip well. Oh, and one other thing: Don’t broach the barista-customer relationship unless you’ve got a firm backup spot in mind. That fallout is almost never worth the free coffee.
With utmost warmth & affection,
bijan
P.S. Readers, remember to submit your problems: letterstobij@gmail.com. Shh, there there. It'll all be okay. Shh. No tears, only dreams now.