Thoughts while making an espresso

I've finally got myself a stove-top espresso machine, the shiny aluminum screw-on type that lends home-brewed coffee a rustic appeal. If you want a mental picture, try to remember that scene where the artsy Spanish guy in "Vicky Christina Barcelona" is making coffee for Scarlett Johansson. (Yeah... so now you may correctly guess the inspiration for this purchase)

I got it at Starbucks. I know, pretty expensive. Expensive enough that I had to use my credit card to pay for it. Tears welled-up in my eyes while the barista was bagging the box for me, not because I really really wanted to have one, take note.

So it took it home with me, washed off any impurities and metal shavings under the tap, and made myself my first home-brewed espresso. It was a real bitter (read on) and heart pounding experience, apparently because I sort of miscalculated the proper proportions of a caffe americano. After a couple of sips I could feel my heart trying to escape from my chest and a twitching in my left eye.

*****

If there's one thing I learned from this highly-caffeinated experience, it's that I should be more careful in small talk. A couple of weeks ago, I craved for that coffee buzz while driving back home from the office. It was a rainy evening, and the traffic report from the radio announced a heavy traffic situation was waiting for me on the drive back. So I stopped at a gas station which had a Starbucks.

This coffee shop was familiar to me, for the past years I've made rest stops at this station and passed the time here with my usual cup of Joe. It has gotten to be a familiar twice a week habit that the staff there has deemed me a regular and as soon as I walk in, they're already filling out my usual (I should say, constant) order.

On this particular night, though, there was something different. They had a new staff member manning the cash register, and she was a cute one. I smiled at her and gave her my order, but before she could punch it in, one of the regular staff had already handed me my usual mug of coffee.

"I see you're a regular.", she said as she printed out my receipt.
"Not really, just maybe once or twice a week." I answered, while uncharacteristically dropping some change in the tip box.
"So I guess I'll be seeing more of you soon?"
"And I of you." I smiled as I walked to my usual table outdoors.

It was a good 10 minutes before she came outside and sat at the table next to me for her break. I smiled at her and she shot back a smile at me. And we came to talking, light chit chat, mostly, with a bit of flirting (well, on my part at least). Then we came to talking about coffee. (Because I'm such a doofus, as if she didn't have enough talk about coffee on the job. Sheesh...) She liked those frothy cappuccinos, while I said I liked mine black. (Something I tried out after reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez) She seemed perplexed by my choice of unadulterated coffee, which I thought gave me a bit of leverage in the "mysterious guy" category in this particular instance. Such a player, no?

So I babbled on about what little I knew of coffee. And recalling that scene from the movie, told her I've always wanted one of those stove-top espresso machines. It was at this point that she said Starbucks sold those but didn't carry those items on a regular basis. Too bad, I said. She promised to check out their office if they could have one for me delivered to this branch. Of course I said I'd like that, not really meaning it. I thought it was just one of those things that you left hanging so you'd have something to talk about for the next encounter. So she paid her leave to go back to work and I said I'd see her next time.

Two weeks after when I got a text message that the espresso machine was now available. I had almost forgotten about it, but was elated that she remembered. Problem was, the message was from Floyd, one of the regular staff. I thanked Floyd for the message and told him I'd pass by their store the next day. The fact that she told this Floyd guy to text me about it might mean that she thought about me, and that she would be there when I came to pick up the item. That was cool!

I came by the next day, but she wasn't there. Apparently she was on loan from another branch for a week and only left a reminder that I wanted the espresso machine on order. She wasn't scheduled to be back there anytime soon. Floyd also wasn't there for me to ask for her number to thank her. What a bitch for leading me on, I thought. Well, my fault mostly for being such a flirt.

So now I'm stuck with my very own espresso maker, and no one to share coffee with. Crap.