Picture yourself walking into a small intimate coffee bar. You are standing in line quietly waiting for the young man behind the large whistling and whirling machine to ask you that wonderful question... "What can I get you?-" I have been thinking about this cup of liquid heaven since morning when I decided - to hell with the budget stuff - I am going to indulge in a fabulous - over the top- incredibly costly- but oh-so- worth- it- Cappuccino. I have thought about carrying my cup over to the side bar and slowly smelling the brown spice that would tumble onto the top of the frothy milk. Double m- yumm- bitter-sweet Madagascar Cinnamon. I stand there patiently waiting as each person mumbles their order. As they leave the queue that all knowing grin moves across lips. They are anticipating that amazing first sip. I move up one spot. Soon- soon- the want of it is building. That smell hits as a woman walks by. Ahhhh. Cinnamon, frothy milk. YUMMMMM. My brain is processing. Another step forward. I don't remember this many people last time I allowed myself a visit. Oh no- I think. What if they get terribly popular and then the prices change. No- don't panic. I look over at the board. I allow my eyes to scan it and there it is- Cappuccino- small- or large- No medium?- That's interesting- Maybe they had a hard time finding the cup size from the wholesaler. My mind wanders. Okay- I tell myself- Only a small- That's $8.49 + taxes! Think. Be good. It's a $10.00 cup of coffee. The line moves. I try and hold to my resolve to order the small size. But look- everyone else is having a large. I notice a couple standing in front of me. They aren't speaking. My mind registers but I have other thoughts crowding out their disjointed image. I have been so good lately and it has been a hard month. My hair is wild- I opted for the budget brand of conditioner. I catch a glimpse of myself in the window- I do deserve it. Deserve it- I look at the non- couple again. What is it that makes me notice? Coffee. Keep my mind on the coffee. I'm splitting again. Getting distracted. I clutch at the portfolio, pulling it in to my body. Ah, that feels better. Comforting. I breathe a little easier and think back to the coffee... and I play games with myself. What if I buy the larger one? Actually it is cheaper because of the amount of coffee against volume makes it a far better choice. It's being financially responsible. I am a great comparison shopper. The line shift forward towards the young man. I watch as friends meet and laugh together. The couple in front are not speaking. She is looking at her feet, scrutinizing her classic brown pumps. He is looking ahead, not looking; or at least trying to look as if he is not looking. I pull my portfolio closer almost folding it around my chest. I try not to think about standing there alone. Besides, I am not really alone. I'll have a cup of Cappuccino with me in a few moments. And they do serve it in such charming white porcelain cups. My pencils are in the case- where did I put that? Oh yes- it's in my ruck sack. I look at the woman in brown patten pumps. They are new and there is a faint smell of leather. I can't imagine her wearing a ruck sack. She is so elegantly long. I want to sketch her. I want to tap her on her perfectly postured shoulder and force the words from my throat- "Please- would you come to my studio and take off your clothes and let me paint your beautifully languid lines?" I look down and stare at her heels. His feet are facing away from hers. Hers are together. Matched and straight. What an amazing painting it would make. Square canvas I think would do best. His are turned- facing the shop. His shoes are shined but older. There is a scuff mark, almost hidden but not quite. The colour of the deep blue lace-up matches his trouser pants. Prussian Blue with a hint of... of... maybe some Cerulean. Did she choose it when she was still interested? The feet tell the distance between them. Together and apart. Would a painting show what my guts are seeing? I reach into my pocket and play with the money. I know it's a twenty. I know because I have been playing with it the entire walk over to the Coffee Bar. Well, if a small is $8.49 (sounds so much better without the taxes) and a large is $12.49 it's actually much better to buy the large. And it does come with a Biscotti- Then I remember. I don't like Biscotti-I wonder if she eats Biscotti- too beautiful- too perfect in her pencil skirt and cropped jacket. Is is tweed? Wow- look at the threads and textures. Number 08 flat- and then maybe a fan to pull threads. Look at the tones. The light is catching the burnished yellows and just a hint of vat orange. Coffee. Get back to the coffee. The large one-Biscotti- free- well not free just included in the price. Either way it does come with it. I tell myself that just shows what a good deal the large size is. So, if I did like Biscotti it would be like getting Cappuccino and dessert. That would be a great value. Or if I had a friend with me then I could offer them the Biscotti. I wonder if she will offer him her Biscotti- but I already know she won't. I have always hung on to "Faint Hope Clauses". Faint hope that she won't really say something he won't want to hear. Faint hope clauses... Think about something else- switch- don't notice - just this once don't care- everyone is not a lost puppy. Faint hope clauses- I could always take the Biscotti home afterwards. But I know it would just sit on the kitchen counter; an offering for the cat. He will bite at it then unimpressed he will eventually knock it to the floor. Later that week I will have to get the broom out and using the handle as a sort of wedge, get it out from under the refrigerator. I think about myself, lying on the cold kitchen floor, bent into most unreasonable shapes pushing and jabbing the broom handle back and forth. Do women who wear tweed lay on kitchen floors? Come on- why do those little bits of stuff always find the hardest spot possible to get at. I admit to having thought many times of leaving it, but then I think about what could come into the house if I do. Change directions- Wrong way- Focus- FOCUS on the CAPPUCCINO- COME BACK! LARGE! Definitely a LARGE in fact right now I would order an Extra- Jumbo-if they had it! Another step- Only the two ahead of you now- Oh- She ordered a Double Cappuccino with an extra shot of Espresso, no fat soy. Wow! She chooses to look at the server not the man. He places his hand over his wallet. He taps it with his finger. He looks at the board. (I can't help but wonder what he is thinking) He then orders a Machiatto- double shot- full fat with added caramel. What was that?! I wonder- The machine whistles and whirls- The young man moves around the shiny chrome handles with an ease of a well choreographed relationship. These are rehearsed steps. He pulls at something and the machine purrs in response. A thought floods over me - He moves around the various utters and protrusions with an agility that is astonishing. Maybe classic Cappuccino isn't really such an indulgence. I roll the money around in my pocket. Then I remember- property taxes and yearly vet bills and I really do need a lawn mower... Cappuccino with wonderfully frothy milk and Madagascar Cinnamon gently sprinkled on top... a small one. The man hands the woman her drink. She takes a paper serviette from the counter and folds it over the lip of the saucer before taking it in her hand. No smile. Oh oh- I can hear my brain ticking. What is so dirty or maybe too hot to handle. She needs a barrier. She wanted that double shot of Espresso for a reason. She has something to say to him. I turn back to the face the counter. My head down, I feel my shoulders fall. It's recognition fatigue. I know what might be coming. I remember another time in a coffee bar. The man takes his drink. The large bowl like cup is overflowing with a mountainous dollop of whipped cream. Caramel is artistically draped across the top slightly pushing down the rest forcing a white lava flow over the rim. It drips onto the floor and the tip of his polished shoe. He looks over to see where she is seated. She does not get up to help. He places the cup down upon the counter and reaches into his wallet. The chrome mistress burps a final time. Final time. Why doesn't he see? I wonder if she will wait for him to at least enjoy the caramel and cream before she tells him. Yes, definitely a small. I think to myself. The man reaches into his wallet and hands the maestro of the coffee bar $40.00! I watch in fascination as he gets back some change. It all happens too quickly to do any mental mathematics. But the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it will be a very costly morning for him. Faint hope clause- hang on- Then I look over and see her manicured nails are endlessly stirring and stirring her cup. I watch as he walks over. She keeps stirring. I hang on to the faint hope clause pushing down the feeling swelling inside of me. I can see the tableau of images. I turn and order a small Cappuccino to go. I wait quietly as the young man moves, completing his dance with the Italian Chrome machine. I watch as she stirs and then slowly begins to speak. She is saying something. He leans forward. She is not looking at him but still stirs. He places his hand over hers as if asking her to stop. The foam is gone- Stirred away. She retracts her hand and he is left holding air.I hear someone speaking. Oh it's to me! I reach into my pocket and hand away my money. I leave my hand open and I can feel coins dropping into the palm. The man sits back in his chair. Faint hope clauses I tell myself. Try and believe in them. I take my coffee in the paper cup with the lid crushing the wonderful foam. I walk over to the cinnamon. I watch as she gets up and walks out of the coffee bar. Her heels echo a quick click. Then the door and she vanishes. He remains motionless. The caramel and cream are dripping down the sides of the porcelain cup. I reach into my sack and pull out a card. I write on the back- Please, Try and Believe in "Faint Hope Clauses". I walk over to his table and place the card down in front of him. I smile and leave. Half way down the street I realize, I left my Cappuccino at the coffee bar. Wednesday, 16 September 2009
"Faint Hope Clauses" Live At The Coffee Bar
Picture yourself walking into a small intimate coffee bar. You are standing in line quietly waiting for the young man behind the large whistling and whirling machine to ask you that wonderful question... "What can I get you?-" I have been thinking about this cup of liquid heaven since morning when I decided - to hell with the budget stuff - I am going to indulge in a fabulous - over the top- incredibly costly- but oh-so- worth- it- Cappuccino. I have thought about carrying my cup over to the side bar and slowly smelling the brown spice that would tumble onto the top of the frothy milk. Double m- yumm- bitter-sweet Madagascar Cinnamon. I stand there patiently waiting as each person mumbles their order. As they leave the queue that all knowing grin moves across lips. They are anticipating that amazing first sip. I move up one spot. Soon- soon- the want of it is building. That smell hits as a woman walks by. Ahhhh. Cinnamon, frothy milk. YUMMMMM. My brain is processing. Another step forward. I don't remember this many people last time I allowed myself a visit. Oh no- I think. What if they get terribly popular and then the prices change. No- don't panic. I look over at the board. I allow my eyes to scan it and there it is- Cappuccino- small- or large- No medium?- That's interesting- Maybe they had a hard time finding the cup size from the wholesaler. My mind wanders. Okay- I tell myself- Only a small- That's $8.49 + taxes! Think. Be good. It's a $10.00 cup of coffee. The line moves. I try and hold to my resolve to order the small size. But look- everyone else is having a large. I notice a couple standing in front of me. They aren't speaking. My mind registers but I have other thoughts crowding out their disjointed image. I have been so good lately and it has been a hard month. My hair is wild- I opted for the budget brand of conditioner. I catch a glimpse of myself in the window- I do deserve it. Deserve it- I look at the non- couple again. What is it that makes me notice? Coffee. Keep my mind on the coffee. I'm splitting again. Getting distracted. I clutch at the portfolio, pulling it in to my body. Ah, that feels better. Comforting. I breathe a little easier and think back to the coffee... and I play games with myself. What if I buy the larger one? Actually it is cheaper because of the amount of coffee against volume makes it a far better choice. It's being financially responsible. I am a great comparison shopper. The line shift forward towards the young man. I watch as friends meet and laugh together. The couple in front are not speaking. She is looking at her feet, scrutinizing her classic brown pumps. He is looking ahead, not looking; or at least trying to look as if he is not looking. I pull my portfolio closer almost folding it around my chest. I try not to think about standing there alone. Besides, I am not really alone. I'll have a cup of Cappuccino with me in a few moments. And they do serve it in such charming white porcelain cups. My pencils are in the case- where did I put that? Oh yes- it's in my ruck sack. I look at the woman in brown patten pumps. They are new and there is a faint smell of leather. I can't imagine her wearing a ruck sack. She is so elegantly long. I want to sketch her. I want to tap her on her perfectly postured shoulder and force the words from my throat- "Please- would you come to my studio and take off your clothes and let me paint your beautifully languid lines?" I look down and stare at her heels. His feet are facing away from hers. Hers are together. Matched and straight. What an amazing painting it would make. Square canvas I think would do best. His are turned- facing the shop. His shoes are shined but older. There is a scuff mark, almost hidden but not quite. The colour of the deep blue lace-up matches his trouser pants. Prussian Blue with a hint of... of... maybe some Cerulean. Did she choose it when she was still interested? The feet tell the distance between them. Together and apart. Would a painting show what my guts are seeing? I reach into my pocket and play with the money. I know it's a twenty. I know because I have been playing with it the entire walk over to the Coffee Bar. Well, if a small is $8.49 (sounds so much better without the taxes) and a large is $12.49 it's actually much better to buy the large. And it does come with a Biscotti- Then I remember. I don't like Biscotti-I wonder if she eats Biscotti- too beautiful- too perfect in her pencil skirt and cropped jacket. Is is tweed? Wow- look at the threads and textures. Number 08 flat- and then maybe a fan to pull threads. Look at the tones. The light is catching the burnished yellows and just a hint of vat orange. Coffee. Get back to the coffee. The large one-Biscotti- free- well not free just included in the price. Either way it does come with it. I tell myself that just shows what a good deal the large size is. So, if I did like Biscotti it would be like getting Cappuccino and dessert. That would be a great value. Or if I had a friend with me then I could offer them the Biscotti. I wonder if she will offer him her Biscotti- but I already know she won't. I have always hung on to "Faint Hope Clauses". Faint hope that she won't really say something he won't want to hear. Faint hope clauses... Think about something else- switch- don't notice - just this once don't care- everyone is not a lost puppy. Faint hope clauses- I could always take the Biscotti home afterwards. But I know it would just sit on the kitchen counter; an offering for the cat. He will bite at it then unimpressed he will eventually knock it to the floor. Later that week I will have to get the broom out and using the handle as a sort of wedge, get it out from under the refrigerator. I think about myself, lying on the cold kitchen floor, bent into most unreasonable shapes pushing and jabbing the broom handle back and forth. Do women who wear tweed lay on kitchen floors? Come on- why do those little bits of stuff always find the hardest spot possible to get at. I admit to having thought many times of leaving it, but then I think about what could come into the house if I do. Change directions- Wrong way- Focus- FOCUS on the CAPPUCCINO- COME BACK! LARGE! Definitely a LARGE in fact right now I would order an Extra- Jumbo-if they had it! Another step- Only the two ahead of you now- Oh- She ordered a Double Cappuccino with an extra shot of Espresso, no fat soy. Wow! She chooses to look at the server not the man. He places his hand over his wallet. He taps it with his finger. He looks at the board. (I can't help but wonder what he is thinking) He then orders a Machiatto- double shot- full fat with added caramel. What was that?! I wonder- The machine whistles and whirls- The young man moves around the shiny chrome handles with an ease of a well choreographed relationship. These are rehearsed steps. He pulls at something and the machine purrs in response. A thought floods over me - He moves around the various utters and protrusions with an agility that is astonishing. Maybe classic Cappuccino isn't really such an indulgence. I roll the money around in my pocket. Then I remember- property taxes and yearly vet bills and I really do need a lawn mower... Cappuccino with wonderfully frothy milk and Madagascar Cinnamon gently sprinkled on top... a small one. The man hands the woman her drink. She takes a paper serviette from the counter and folds it over the lip of the saucer before taking it in her hand. No smile. Oh oh- I can hear my brain ticking. What is so dirty or maybe too hot to handle. She needs a barrier. She wanted that double shot of Espresso for a reason. She has something to say to him. I turn back to the face the counter. My head down, I feel my shoulders fall. It's recognition fatigue. I know what might be coming. I remember another time in a coffee bar. The man takes his drink. The large bowl like cup is overflowing with a mountainous dollop of whipped cream. Caramel is artistically draped across the top slightly pushing down the rest forcing a white lava flow over the rim. It drips onto the floor and the tip of his polished shoe. He looks over to see where she is seated. She does not get up to help. He places the cup down upon the counter and reaches into his wallet. The chrome mistress burps a final time. Final time. Why doesn't he see? I wonder if she will wait for him to at least enjoy the caramel and cream before she tells him. Yes, definitely a small. I think to myself. The man reaches into his wallet and hands the maestro of the coffee bar $40.00! I watch in fascination as he gets back some change. It all happens too quickly to do any mental mathematics. But the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it will be a very costly morning for him. Faint hope clause- hang on- Then I look over and see her manicured nails are endlessly stirring and stirring her cup. I watch as he walks over. She keeps stirring. I hang on to the faint hope clause pushing down the feeling swelling inside of me. I can see the tableau of images. I turn and order a small Cappuccino to go. I wait quietly as the young man moves, completing his dance with the Italian Chrome machine. I watch as she stirs and then slowly begins to speak. She is saying something. He leans forward. She is not looking at him but still stirs. He places his hand over hers as if asking her to stop. The foam is gone- Stirred away. She retracts her hand and he is left holding air.I hear someone speaking. Oh it's to me! I reach into my pocket and hand away my money. I leave my hand open and I can feel coins dropping into the palm. The man sits back in his chair. Faint hope clauses I tell myself. Try and believe in them. I take my coffee in the paper cup with the lid crushing the wonderful foam. I walk over to the cinnamon. I watch as she gets up and walks out of the coffee bar. Her heels echo a quick click. Then the door and she vanishes. He remains motionless. The caramel and cream are dripping down the sides of the porcelain cup. I reach into my sack and pull out a card. I write on the back- Please, Try and Believe in "Faint Hope Clauses". I walk over to his table and place the card down in front of him. I smile and leave. Half way down the street I realize, I left my Cappuccino at the coffee bar.