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Coffee

 In my town, there is a great deal of virtue-signaling around coffee. There is a desire for "coffee purity," which means that you can be judged for visiting Starbucks. In fact, the workers at the rival shop, "Village Cafe," wear tee shirts that say, "Friends Don't Let Friends Drink Starbucks." (This is the closest to overt nastiness that anyone gets--anyone in Maplewood.)


People were ecstatic when a new local option opened--the option was called "Elitist Coffee." It's really called that. Not "Elite Coffee," which would also be absurd. "Elitist." People wanted to pretend to love this local shop--though its hours (W-Sunday only) were bizarre, its seats were uncomfortable, and its counter was unequipped for accepting non-cash payments. This sort of situation breeds cognitive dissonance within a Maplewood citizen. The citizen wants to (loudly) proclaim his or her love for Elitist Coffee--but you can only tolerate so many coffee-free Mondays and Tuesdays. Soon, the citizen is wearing a disguise to "drop in" to the village Starbucks.

A new option exists; it's called Perch. For many years, Perch sold only overpriced shit for your living room. ("For merely two hundred dollars, you can enjoy this wooden hand-carved statuette of Dolly Parton!") Apparently, the statuette sales were strong enough to support an expansion plan. Now--when you purchase your fifty-dollar "oud satin" incense stick--you can pick up an espresso "mocktail" or a scoop of mudslide gelato. This is fine, but the really great thing about Perch is that there is a clean and accessible bathroom.

I myself view coffee as a necessary vehicle for flavored creamer; the "event" is the creamer, and the coffee is just something you have to endure. This is a way that I'm different from my spouse, who is more of a grown-up. Marc really *craves* coffee. I know this because--if he is getting morning blood work--he is relieved to recall that he can drink black coffee without upsetting the technician. Black coffee does not beckon to me. I'd just as soon drink dish soap.

Add a little cream? ...Let's just say I've spent my fair share of minutes at Perch with my espresso mocktail. The special feature--at the end--is a brief trip to the clean and underused bathroom.
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