It was a balmy spring Saturday. I sensed it was going to be a good weekend. Unsurprisingly, my senses were wrong. I got up from my bed and limped to the kitchen. My coffee brewer wouldn't turn on. I tried again, still nothing. It completely shattered my mood early in the morning. All in all, it had a pretty long life. I still remember when my mom first got it for me 5 years ago. I was 18 and life wasn’t the greatest at that time. I’d hurt my leg at a climbing gym. A terrible injury. A huge setback. Climbing was really the only thing that genuinely made me feel like I was on cloud nine. The injury made me feel down in the dumps. The first few months I couldn’t really go out anywhere, so I was miserable and had no energy. Every time I was feeling under the weather, all I could do was throw a blue bouncy ball against the wall. It got me in the right-thinking space, sort of a coping mechanism, even though I would often fail to catch it and it would smack me in the face. Luckily, during that time, I discovered a certain love I never knew I had. It was coffee. I LOVED coffee. It gave me back the energy that I lost. It gave me comfort and warmth. I started looking at a bunch of videos of baristas making coffees and started wanting to become a barista myself. I just felt over the moon imagining everybody talking about the cool new barista Emmeline in the café downtown. My mom noticed just how ambitious I was, so despite a pile of money she had already spent on all my medical bills, she decided to come home one day practically collapsing from the weight of carrying a box full of coffee brewing equipment.
On that day I felt so ecstatic, as if an angel had just appeared in front of me and gave me eternal light and bliss, except the light crushes beans and the bliss brews a high caffeine drink. I wanted to start jumping and running around so badly but knew my leg would start hurting worse so I stuck to holding the overwhelming joy brewing in my head and heart and simply flapped my hands around and occasionally pulling my hair. You see, in my childhood and teen years, I never knew how to properly express immense joy. I would often get awkward looks for jumping around every time I was happy. So, I learned to subtly pretend to be adjusting my hair when feeling overly excited. Upon seeing that coffee machine I found myself limping over to the counter to make coffee with fingers twirling my hair and pulling it. It was the happiest I had been in a long time. I was to become an expert coffee brewer.
To my dismay, I was just a 23-year-old jobless limper with a busted brewer. I attempted one more time to fix the brewer, but to no avail. I wanted my caffeine and decided I should go and sit down like a proper person and drink my coffee at a café and have someone else make my drink for a change. I went to this old café called “Sinneswandel”. It used to be run by these two German folks who moved in purely for the business opportunity. The café was doing decently well until one day. The owners moved out and sold the café to someone anonymous. Little people went to the café after that, and there were no reviews anywhere about it. Maybe the café was going to be horrible, but a warm latte is worth the trouble. I walked into the café, nothing happened. I mean it, nothing. Usually when you enter a café the atmospheres changes. The mixing sounds of old people and teenagers chattering at the tables. The partially blaring lights blinding you for a split second when you close the door. The football game playing on the TV as the middle-aged guy's yell at the goalkeeper through the screen. But here, nothing. Everybody was sitting at their respective tables silently, mostly alone. Majority of them were old folks. The TV was playing some boring grey music at a low volume. The barista had a monotonous voice as she would speak. She was moving around fast and multitasking well, I’ll give her that. I sat on the far left of the bar. The chair was so average. It wasn’t painful to sit on, it just felt uneasy. I looked in front of me and saw a few cartons of milk stacked on one another. It felt somewhat uncomfortable, like they were glaring at me. I didn’t want to call the barista over to me since she seemed to be fast enough to not take more than a minute or two to take my order. But before I knew, a mug was so violently, yet somehow so smooth and calmly slammed on the counter.
“Black coffee, no cream no sugar.”
Yeah duh, it’s a black coffee. The problem here was the fact I wasn’t given a menu.
“Excuse me!” I called her up. It took her merely a second to show up from behind the bar. Her shadow loomed over me, and her posture made me feel weak.
“I wasn’t given a menu, and I really don’t want a black coffee right now.” I chuckled while saying, trying to make the situation less uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry miss. It’s what everyone here gets.”
I got confused. When I used to go here it had a colourful menu of so many drinks that I couldn’t even pronounce half of them.
“I’m sorry, but I was here years back and you guys had plenty of drinks.”
“New owner, new policy.” She said as she started washing a mug. I recalled the milk behind the counter, so I pointed it out.
“You guys have milk back there, right? You can just pour it in a black coffee and get me a latte, okay?” Unexpectedly, she dropped the mug. Her eyes widened and her hands began to tremble. The customers turned around to the sound of ceramic smashing. But instead of looking at her, they were looking at me.
“Excuse me...” She looked at me dead in the eyes. I wasn’t sure if she was furious or terrified of my request.
“Look I don’t get what’s going on here but I either want to know why I can’t get my order, or get my latte served.” Her posture shattered. She looked uneasy. I noticed behind the bar there were a pair of eyes staring at her. Now I was beginning to lose my composure. I knew something was wrong the second I entered.
“Miss...” She spoke with a trembling voice. “I think it would be best for you to leave.” My eyes were wide open. Now the eyes were staring back at me. Without saying a word, I got up and left. I was too much of a coward to double down on my request. When I left, I saw through the window that her composure returned to normal.
I felt defeated. What was wrong with that place? Did I get the poor barista in trouble? Why should I even care she was so rude to me! I didn't know what to think so I just sat on a nearby bench and sighed. I heard a giggle next to me, as if someone was laughing at me. That’s when I realized someone was laughing in my face. A little girl. I was so distressed from everything that was happening around me that I didn’t even notice the kid pulling her hair with a huge smile on her face next to me. She was bright, very bright. She wore many colourful bracelets. She was wearing climbing shoes full of glitter. She looked up at me and grinned. I could see pieces of chocolate between her teeth.
“You have pretty hair!”
She yelled at me pointing at my hair.
“Are you lost kid? Where are your parents?”
“Nope! I’m right where I want to be!”
She kept on grinning. I flashed a little smile at her, but it quickly faded away.
“Why are grown-ups like you so grumpy all the time?”
I turned towards her. She almost looked mad at me for not smiling.
“Well, grown-ups sometimes go to places that make them feel sad even though they’re supposed to make them feel happy.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she turned to me and spoke
“Well then they should go back to that place and instead of doing this...” she pulled her lips down with her fingers, making a frown. “They should do this!” She pulled her lips back up making a smile. I chuckled.
“Well, I mean it’s not always that easy.” I told her. She extended her arm towards me, holding a small carton of milk with a straw attached to the back. “Well maybe this will cheer you up!” She said with the most innocent grin ever. “My mom says I can’t drink the milk school gives me. She says I have lack toes in tower ants!”
I took the milk and started laughing. She had no clue who I was, in fact she met me merely a minute ago. But still, she gave me a little carton of milk in an attempt to make me happy. Her smile really made a difference on my day.
“I think she said ‘lactose intolerant’ kid. Thank you.” I smiled warmly. Strangely enough, when I looked to my right the kid was gone. All that was left was a little trail of glitter.
I sighed, this time calmly, not happy, but satisfied. I got off the bench and headed home.
A lot happened that day. I got home and was still a little down, after all, I still didn’t get my latte. At least I had a little milk from that kid. I sat in my room bouncing my blue ball back and forth, when suddenly, I got a groundbreaking idea. The following day I was going to go back to that café with a big smile on my face and a carton of milk in my hand.
Monday came. I did my usual morning routine and went straight outside. The music was the same, the people were gloomy, but it felt different. The smile on my face turned the monotone music into colourful sounds, and the gloomy aura of the old people was outshone by me being in seventh heaven. I greeted the barista kindly. She looked no different than when I first came there. She acted like she had never seen me before and simply gave me my black coffee. I, however, decided to change up the game. I took out the little milk carton and began pouring it into the cup making myself a latte. The barista’s eyes opened wide once again. She slid over to me and asked what I was doing. I extended my arm with a big grin on my face.
“Would you try this for me?” I asked happily.
Her teeth were clenched, her face backing away from the cup. She glanced over at the back bar, fearing for the eyes to stare at her again, but I doubled down.
“Just one sip, please?” I think it was the aroma that got her, she took the mug with trembling arms and took a sip. She went from terrified, to static, to comfortable. She smiled for a quick second but at once gave the mug back. She just went back to work like nothing had happened. I understood her but was determined to come back next day.
I came back on Tuesday as planned but this time without milk. I felt like drinking a black coffee. It felt like service was slower than usual. Suddenly, I overheard something from the barista talking to another customer that completely changed the day.
“Would you like to try our new latte? It’s like a black coffee but with milk.” I have no idea what the customer responded with because I was drowning in excitement. I couldn’t believe I made a difference to her. She came over to me and asked me the same question. I asked for a latte even though I didn’t feel like it today. I just wanted to see how she would make it. She took a carton of milk and poured it in. The latte tasted mediocre, but it didn't matter, at least she was making them for a change. I couldn’t help not noticing that there were no occasional glances towards the back of the bar anymore. I learned her name was Melissa. We made some small talk and I even offered to teach her make better coffee; she just laughed and didn’t really take me seriously. The next day I came again, then the next day, and then the next day. Every day after my classes had finished, I hurried back to the café. Every day the cafe’s atmosphere got more colourful. It felt like I was surfing the clouds. The chair was comfortable, the people were more chattery, and the music was whimsical. All until one day.
I heard the door open. The music stopped, the chatter started to become whispering, and my chair got uncomfortable. Melissa looked behind me with the same terrified look she used to give. I turned around. I saw an old man. He was plump, his skin was wrinkled, head bald, eyes dark. They were the same eyes I saw back of the bar a few days before. Was this the owner? No doubt about it. There’s no other explanation as to him being behind the bar multiple times. He took somebody’s drink from the table gently and looked inside of it. He saw a latte and slammed the mug violently on the table, almost breaking it. He clenched his teeth; he was missing some. He started to walk towards us.
“What was the one thing, one thing I told you?” He said in a deep and weak voice. He was talking to Melissa, but I felt his breath on my neck. Melissa was looking down to the ground.
“Serve black coffee, no cream no sugar.” She muttered to herself.
“Then why do I feel like something was done wrong?”
Melissa said nothing to him. I wanted to speak up but I didn’t want her to lose her job because of me.
“As from today, I suggest you start looking for a new job and quit.” Melissa’s jaw dropped, she looked miserable. The man turned around and started to slowly look away.
“You’re firing her?!” I got up from my chair so impulsively. I immediately regretted yelling, but either way it’s not like Melissa had anything more to lose. His neck jerked towards me.
“Excuse me, kid?”
“Are you firing her?”
He started walking closer to me.
“I am simply suggesting her to quit.” He spoke angrily through his teeth.
“Are you firing her?” I refused to say anything else. I wasn’t letting Melissa give into whatever his deal was. He was either firing her himself or my friend was staying. He stared at me, not saying a word.
“You’re letting her go?!” I heard a chair move. A customer, a young one, got up and swore at the owner.
“You’re giving her the sack?!” Another one stood up. Then everybody stood up. The teens started first, then the adults, then the middle-aged, and finally the elderly. Everybody asked the same thing, but he did not say a word.
“I suggest you quit, Melissa.” He said again. I got up close to his face.
“Are you so afraid to make a change that you don’t even have the guts to let go off an employee and instead hope for her to act first and resign?” The man’s expression changed, from anger, to confusion, back to anger. He stared at me for 20 seconds, although it felt like hours. He turned around and simply left. Everybody sat back down.
The following day, I came back. The café was back to cheery and uplifting. I asked Melissa what was up and she had some insane news. In just one day the guy sold his café. We began to laugh. He was seriously so afraid to change his rules and try something new that benefited him that he sold his whole business for a bargain of a price. She hadn't gotten to talk with the new owner that much, but from what she had seen the owner was keen on making an actual menu for a change. I decided to cash in on the opportunity of the new owner and asked Melissa, mostly half-joking, if they were offering job positions. To my surprise she took me seriously and said she'd be glad to see me work. I'd only work part-time because of college but that was fine. I high fived her and left for the day. I felt proud. The café developed well, it was making tenfold of what it had before I arrived.
Back home, I saw the blue ball on my bed; it was torn apart a bit. It wasn't completely ruined but the blue shell had a hole and was showing the bright yellow inside. I needed it whenever I found myself in a dead-end street, but I had no use for it anymore. I decided to throw it in the trash. I laid on my bed, feeling like I was on top of the world. I simply could not resist the urge and pulled my hair out of excitement. Maybe my senses were right after all.
Little did I know what a simple smile and a carton of milk can do? And if you don't like milk? A smile will be there at your lowest and help you find a drink suitable just for you.