Clove
07-14-2008, 03:52 PM
Murky Coffee, Arlington: Hold That Espresso Between Your Knees
July 13th, 2008 by Jeff Simmermon
http://www.andiamnotlying.com/2008/murky-coffee-arlington-hold-that-espresso-between-your-knees/
Maybe condescending service from a patronizing millenial at a DC coffee shop isn’t news to anyone else. But the only way I’m ever coming back to Murky Coffee in Arlington is if I’m carrying matches and a can of kerosene.
I just ordered my usual summertime pick-me-up: a triple shot of espresso dumped over ice. And the guy at the counter looked me in the eye with a straight face and said “I’m sorry, we can’t serve iced espresso here. It’s against our policy.”
The whole world turned brown and chunky for a second. Flecks of corn floated past my pupils, and it took me a second to blink it all away.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll have a triple espresso and a cup of ice, please.”
He rolled his eyes and rang it up, took my money, gave me change. I stood there and waited. Then the barista called me over to the bar. I reached for it, and he leaned over and locked his eyes with mine, saying “Hey man. What you’re about to do … that’s really, really Not Okay.”
I could hear the capital letters in his voice, could see the gravity of the situation in his eyes.
He continued: “This is our store policy, to preserve the integrity of the coffee. It’s about the quality of the drink, and diluting the espresso is really not cool with us. So I mean, you’re going to do what you’re going to do, and I can’t stop you, but”
I interrupted. “You’re goddamned right you can’t stop me,” I said. “I happen to have a personal policy that prohibits me from indulging stupid bullshit like this — and another personal policy of doing what I want with the products I pay for.” Then I looked him right in his big wide eyes and poured the espresso onto the ice.
The whole thing was so Jack Nicholson in Five Easy Pieces:
Touching a waitress’s chest is Not Okay. Pouring the coffee onto the floor instead of the cup is Not Okay. Drinking something I paid for the way I want to drink it — that’s more than Not Okay, it’s perfectly fucking fine.
Let me put this incident in perspective: I ‘ve got a good job, a gorgeous, loving girlfriend and I haven’t been to very many funerals. This is probably the worst thing that’s going to happen to me this weekend. So in the big picture, I’m doing okay.
But mankind hasn’t evolved, physically, in thousands and thousands of years. Biologically, we are the same barefoot creatures that hunted woolly mammoths with spears and competed with cheetahs for meat on the African savannah. That’s the source of most customer rage right there: a creature with a fight-or-fight reflex that’s 250,000 years old confronted with some ridiculous, arbitrary bullshit.
Here’s how arbitrary: I was stuck there fuming for an hour or so while my girlfriend had a dance rehearsal. And then, dammit, I needed more coffee. I didn’t want to spend any more money there, but I didn’t know where the nearest Starbucks was. I’m usually a fan of local, independent businesses — but at least Starbucks doesn’t tell me how to like my coffee. So I went back up to the register.
“I would like the strongest iced beverage your policy will allow,” I said.
“How about an Americano with four shots and light on the water” asked the barista.
I’d never had one before — so I said, “sure.”
Then he turned around and filled up a plastic cup with ice, filled it 3/4 of the way with water and carefully added four shots of espresso. He stirred it gravely and handed it to me, saying “enjoy.” And you know what? I really did. You’ve got to admire someone’s dedication to craft, and rigid adherence to a strict quality control policy. I was really, really impressed. So impressed that I swallowed my rage like so much cold coffee, opened up my wallet, and left a tip in the tip jar.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/simmermon/2666455570/
July 13th, 2008 by Jeff Simmermon
http://www.andiamnotlying.com/2008/murky-coffee-arlington-hold-that-espresso-between-your-knees/
Maybe condescending service from a patronizing millenial at a DC coffee shop isn’t news to anyone else. But the only way I’m ever coming back to Murky Coffee in Arlington is if I’m carrying matches and a can of kerosene.
I just ordered my usual summertime pick-me-up: a triple shot of espresso dumped over ice. And the guy at the counter looked me in the eye with a straight face and said “I’m sorry, we can’t serve iced espresso here. It’s against our policy.”
The whole world turned brown and chunky for a second. Flecks of corn floated past my pupils, and it took me a second to blink it all away.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll have a triple espresso and a cup of ice, please.”
He rolled his eyes and rang it up, took my money, gave me change. I stood there and waited. Then the barista called me over to the bar. I reached for it, and he leaned over and locked his eyes with mine, saying “Hey man. What you’re about to do … that’s really, really Not Okay.”
I could hear the capital letters in his voice, could see the gravity of the situation in his eyes.
He continued: “This is our store policy, to preserve the integrity of the coffee. It’s about the quality of the drink, and diluting the espresso is really not cool with us. So I mean, you’re going to do what you’re going to do, and I can’t stop you, but”
I interrupted. “You’re goddamned right you can’t stop me,” I said. “I happen to have a personal policy that prohibits me from indulging stupid bullshit like this — and another personal policy of doing what I want with the products I pay for.” Then I looked him right in his big wide eyes and poured the espresso onto the ice.
The whole thing was so Jack Nicholson in Five Easy Pieces:
Touching a waitress’s chest is Not Okay. Pouring the coffee onto the floor instead of the cup is Not Okay. Drinking something I paid for the way I want to drink it — that’s more than Not Okay, it’s perfectly fucking fine.
Let me put this incident in perspective: I ‘ve got a good job, a gorgeous, loving girlfriend and I haven’t been to very many funerals. This is probably the worst thing that’s going to happen to me this weekend. So in the big picture, I’m doing okay.
But mankind hasn’t evolved, physically, in thousands and thousands of years. Biologically, we are the same barefoot creatures that hunted woolly mammoths with spears and competed with cheetahs for meat on the African savannah. That’s the source of most customer rage right there: a creature with a fight-or-fight reflex that’s 250,000 years old confronted with some ridiculous, arbitrary bullshit.
Here’s how arbitrary: I was stuck there fuming for an hour or so while my girlfriend had a dance rehearsal. And then, dammit, I needed more coffee. I didn’t want to spend any more money there, but I didn’t know where the nearest Starbucks was. I’m usually a fan of local, independent businesses — but at least Starbucks doesn’t tell me how to like my coffee. So I went back up to the register.
“I would like the strongest iced beverage your policy will allow,” I said.
“How about an Americano with four shots and light on the water” asked the barista.
I’d never had one before — so I said, “sure.”
Then he turned around and filled up a plastic cup with ice, filled it 3/4 of the way with water and carefully added four shots of espresso. He stirred it gravely and handed it to me, saying “enjoy.” And you know what? I really did. You’ve got to admire someone’s dedication to craft, and rigid adherence to a strict quality control policy. I was really, really impressed. So impressed that I swallowed my rage like so much cold coffee, opened up my wallet, and left a tip in the tip jar.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/simmermon/2666455570/