Me: A small Mocha, please.
Man: Certainly Sir. Whipped cream?
Me: No, thanks. No whipped cream. I don't want anything that would cool down the drink that is shortly to pass my lips. No. My only requirement is that the coffee you're about to serve me should be hot. Very hot. Piping hot. Scaldingly hot. In fact, I would go as so far as to say that the temperature of the beverage I require should be that of a bubbling river of magma straight from the earth's molten core. It should be akin to that of a hissing, steaming torrent of plasma extracted from the surface of the sun. It should be not unlike the burning lava that flows through the fiery rivers of Hell. It should be HOT and nothing – no milk, cream (whipped or otherwise) – should be added to quell the raging, boiling waters within. Please note that I am not a litigious person and providing that the aforementioned drink arrives with a securely fastened lid and a thin protective circlet of cardboard to shield my fingers from the intense nuclear-style forces contained therein, I will take all responsibility for any burns sustained post-transaction.
Man: £2.25, please.
[Postscript: the coffee was tepid.]
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