Mr. Monroe and his apples

His name is Monroe. 

Everyday he comes into the cafe with his metal mug and meanders over to the counter. Holding his mug he looks for me through squinted eyes. He only wants me to pour his coffee. I saw him through the corner of my eye. My  fellow barista shouts, "Hey, your boyfriend is here!" I rolled my eyes and walked over to the counter. "Refill today?" I know it isnt really a refill because this is his first venture here today. Water from his eyes streamed down his wrinkled face. His hands were shaking as he managed to twist off the lid. "Hey darlin' how are you today?" He reached into his bag and pulls out a shinny red apple. "I brought you an apple today." He managed to sputter out as if I didn't know what it was. I gratefully took the apple and sat it on the counter. He recommended that I wash it off because they (whoever "they" may be) do not wash the dirt off. He brings me an apple everyday. I guess you can say that I've started an apple collection. When he leaves, the apples go off into a corner by the espresso bar. I never eat the apples. It isn't that I don't like apples or that I don't think it is considerate that he brings me one, but where are they from? I asked him where he gets his apples. "Well from the farm of course!" The farm? In manhattan? I did not ask which farm or if he grows them himself. I think it flatters him that I even take the apple. 

For some reason I feel sorry for Monroe. I've seen him at the Bank of America down the street when I go to make my deposits after work. He heads over there after he leaves the coffee shop and hangs out there all day. One afternoon at the bank he was wondering around checking out the magazines they have available to read on the shelves. After I deposited my loads of money, I noticed he had made his way over to the teller. "Now Mr. Monroe, am I going to have to call your wife? Yes, I have a boyfriend." The woman had a look on her face as if she was trying nicely to make him leave her alone. So I wasn't the only one he was giving apples to! My mind wandered and I began to place him into a time where men wore pen stripped suits and woman wore fancy hats and mink scarves. Everything was black and white and everyone said "Darlin' and sweetie" like in the old movies. I pictured him as a young Clark Gable and smoking a cigarette hitting on the ladies. Now he is wondering the streets of Manhattan hitting on young woman and giving them apples. 

Who is Monroe and what does he do at the bank? Where does he get his apples? I will ask him tomorrow.

Slurpy Slurp

My day began once again with steamed milk and demanding coffee adicts. 

"What size?

How many shots?

With or without whipped cream?

Bold or mild blend?

Sugar free or regular syrup?

Foam or no foam?"

People are very particular about their coffee and how they like it prepared. I believe that how one takes their coffee represents a personality type or certain traits. For instance, let me set the scene for you. 

In walks Barbie with her Gucci sunglasses, wearing her Burberry scarf tied neatly around her neck. Her stiletto heels pounding into the hardwood floor as she stomps over to the counter to order her drink. She orders a sugar-free vanilla, 2 splenda, nonfat latte, extra hot with no foam. OH, and steamed to 180 degrees. In other words she is high maintenance, self absorbed, too thin, and thinks she is extra extra hot. 

Another one would be.. lets say Jason. Jason walks in and orders a large, nonfat latte with whipped cream. Jason is a heavy set man who looks to be in his mid to late 30's. He knows that he should be aware of his weight but compromises by adding the whipped cream. He does this in every area of his life. One day he might be wise with his money and save a certain amount, but the next day he will splurge and buy a big screen tv that he cant afford. 

Now I'm not saying that this applies to everyone. However, everyday when I walk into the cafe and stand behind the espresso bar, it seems to be pretty accurate to me. I cant help but laugh when I see the similarities. Today actually a very statuesque African American man walked into the cafe. He never looked up at me from the counter and ordered a "Large black and bold". Those were his exact words. Couldnt help but chuckle when I poured the hot steamy black coffee from the urn. When I handed him his coffee his deep voice bellowed "Can I have a receipt?" 

My question to you is this: How do you take your coffee?