So there I was. Navigating my way around unfamiliar territory at the back of Camden Street in search of caffeine. The four-month-old mercifully asleep in the buggy. Soon enough a promising chalkboard comes into view. Bingo.
We wander inside. “Large latte please,” I said, with that knowing emphasis on “large”.
“We only do one size,” said the gym-bunny behind the counter. He pointed at a cardboard vessel which wouldn’t look out of place at a doll’s tea party.
“You’re joking,” I said.
“No,” he replied, without a hint of apology. “Eight ounces is our standard size,” miniature coffee being all the rage nowadays apparently.
“Is this what all the newbies are drinking nowadays?” I joked, trying to build a bridge.
“We’re here over two years actually,” he replied, unimpressed.
Retreated
“No, I meant those coffee-drinkers younger than myself,” I said, feeling the need to explain myself. “Well, can I have two?” I persisted, half expecting him to cave and to produce a reasonably sized container from a secret stash reserved for elders of the community.
“Sure,” he said obligingly. “That’ll be €5.60.”
As I retreated out the door, trying to drink one, without spilling the other, I felt old and out of step with our new-found couture coffee culture. I like a drink that I can savour for longer than two minutes flat.
Maybe the newbies value supreme quality over quantity. Or maybe they are simply too busy to take the time to savour their morning coffee. Or maybe they’re just too busy to notice that they are being ripped off.
