Infidelity
I cheated on my coffee cart guy today.
There, I said it.
I’m not proud of it. It really wasn’t my fault. Well it was my fault but not because of what you think. It’s because I let my MetroCard run out this morning. Well it’s not just because of that. I suppose all acts of infidelity have more than just one cause. The empty MetroCard was merely a trigger. An excuse.
My most recent cart guy has been unfailingly chatty and cheery. That’s not necessarily a good thing. He also has a tip jar out. A tip jar! On a coffee cart! I have never put at thing in that jar but it seems that others have. Either than or he’s doing the old “prime the pump” routine by putting a few bucks of his own in there to let folks know that they should toss him a few extra coins. In any event, I’m not doing it. If he wants more money he should raise the price of coffee. The fancy organic place and the upscale pastry joint in my building both charge roughly double what the carts do for coffee and they still do a solid business so obviously there’s room. Either that or he should start carrying 20 oz cups, call ‘em extra large and charge $1.75. Only an attentive knucklehead with a calculator and thirty seconds to kill would figure out that the standard buck and a quarter for a 16 ouncer works out to 7.8 cents per ounce while $1.75 for 20 works out to 8.8 cents an ounce. Anyway I’d pay it because I can’t drink two coffees before they get cold.
Price point wasn’t what drove me to cheat, however, though the cart I went to did have the aforementioned extra large size and I did purchase it. Really it was the chatter. I’m barely awake when I get off the bus. I haven’t had ANY coffee yet. The last thing I need to do is deal with an inquisition as to how my weekend was or what the weather is going to be or if I’m working tomorrow (“See you tomorrow boss? See you tomorrow?). And don’t call me “boss”, please, although that’s not as bad as “chief” or “buddy” or “champ” which is probably the worst. That guy calls me “champ” and I’m never going to his cart again even if I have to walk half a block out of my way every day like I did this morning. Anyway, I don’t mind a bit of small talk while I’m waiting for my usual, but this guy was a mile-a-minute most mornings. I found myself scripting topics while I walked from the point of de-bussing to the cart so I could just move my mouth on autopilot and not have to work so damn hard at being nice.
You can see there are a lot of issues with this new guy, can’t you?
And so it came to an act of coffeedultery. Infibagelry, if you will. The plot was hatched last night as I remembered while boarding the bus that I had forgotten to refill my MetroCard. I had enough to get home plus five bucks toward the $5.50 I would need for the trip back in the next morning so it wasn’t a big deal, I just had to make sure I had fifty cents change which I did. However, I thought I should refill my card first thing the next morning so I wouldn’t do the old forget, panic, and scramble to do it when I was leaving the office at night. I realized that it would be inconvenient to visit my usual cart guy if I ducked down into the subway first but there was another cart, a cart that I occasionally visit that was conveniently located. I knew their coffee was acceptable, and they almost always had my bagel of choice.
The die was cast.
The morning was clear and bright, and I have to admit I was nervous as the bus headed to the block where I depart. I hoped the driver would go to the northernmost corner of the block and not the southern end where my cart guy had spotted me in the past and had my usual waiting for me when I reached his cart. I was in luck! The northernmost corner was our destination and there was a bus that pulled in behind us totally blocking my cart guy’s line of sight. I quickly de-bussed and crossed the avenue directly to my illicit caffeine rendezvous. They even had extra large! Greedily yet guiltily I ordered and extra large with the same amount of sugar that I normally put in a large – perhaps that was my conscience telling me I must taste some bitterness in the midst of this betrayal.
The transaction was made, and the cart guy accidentally shorted me a dollar! I quickly rectified this situation but then wondered if that would’ve been appropriate penance for being a Judas Valdez. I slunk away and quickly turned right down the stairs into the concourse where the MetroCard machines awaited to justify my behavior and provide me with the debit card that would carry me home and back again over and over.
I can’t tell you which cart I’ll patronize tomorrow. If I go back to my regular guy I know he’ll ask where I’ve been. I’ve already decided to lie, to make up a story that I had a “business breakfast” or to say I was out sick. Something. Somehow I think he’ll know I’m lying, but I can’t confront him with “If only you’d shut up and carry extra-large I would never have strayed!”
Because that would be weird, and I’m no weirdo. No sir.
There, I said it.
I’m not proud of it. It really wasn’t my fault. Well it was my fault but not because of what you think. It’s because I let my MetroCard run out this morning. Well it’s not just because of that. I suppose all acts of infidelity have more than just one cause. The empty MetroCard was merely a trigger. An excuse.
My most recent cart guy has been unfailingly chatty and cheery. That’s not necessarily a good thing. He also has a tip jar out. A tip jar! On a coffee cart! I have never put at thing in that jar but it seems that others have. Either than or he’s doing the old “prime the pump” routine by putting a few bucks of his own in there to let folks know that they should toss him a few extra coins. In any event, I’m not doing it. If he wants more money he should raise the price of coffee. The fancy organic place and the upscale pastry joint in my building both charge roughly double what the carts do for coffee and they still do a solid business so obviously there’s room. Either that or he should start carrying 20 oz cups, call ‘em extra large and charge $1.75. Only an attentive knucklehead with a calculator and thirty seconds to kill would figure out that the standard buck and a quarter for a 16 ouncer works out to 7.8 cents per ounce while $1.75 for 20 works out to 8.8 cents an ounce. Anyway I’d pay it because I can’t drink two coffees before they get cold.
Price point wasn’t what drove me to cheat, however, though the cart I went to did have the aforementioned extra large size and I did purchase it. Really it was the chatter. I’m barely awake when I get off the bus. I haven’t had ANY coffee yet. The last thing I need to do is deal with an inquisition as to how my weekend was or what the weather is going to be or if I’m working tomorrow (“See you tomorrow boss? See you tomorrow?). And don’t call me “boss”, please, although that’s not as bad as “chief” or “buddy” or “champ” which is probably the worst. That guy calls me “champ” and I’m never going to his cart again even if I have to walk half a block out of my way every day like I did this morning. Anyway, I don’t mind a bit of small talk while I’m waiting for my usual, but this guy was a mile-a-minute most mornings. I found myself scripting topics while I walked from the point of de-bussing to the cart so I could just move my mouth on autopilot and not have to work so damn hard at being nice.
You can see there are a lot of issues with this new guy, can’t you?
And so it came to an act of coffeedultery. Infibagelry, if you will. The plot was hatched last night as I remembered while boarding the bus that I had forgotten to refill my MetroCard. I had enough to get home plus five bucks toward the $5.50 I would need for the trip back in the next morning so it wasn’t a big deal, I just had to make sure I had fifty cents change which I did. However, I thought I should refill my card first thing the next morning so I wouldn’t do the old forget, panic, and scramble to do it when I was leaving the office at night. I realized that it would be inconvenient to visit my usual cart guy if I ducked down into the subway first but there was another cart, a cart that I occasionally visit that was conveniently located. I knew their coffee was acceptable, and they almost always had my bagel of choice.
The die was cast.
The morning was clear and bright, and I have to admit I was nervous as the bus headed to the block where I depart. I hoped the driver would go to the northernmost corner of the block and not the southern end where my cart guy had spotted me in the past and had my usual waiting for me when I reached his cart. I was in luck! The northernmost corner was our destination and there was a bus that pulled in behind us totally blocking my cart guy’s line of sight. I quickly de-bussed and crossed the avenue directly to my illicit caffeine rendezvous. They even had extra large! Greedily yet guiltily I ordered and extra large with the same amount of sugar that I normally put in a large – perhaps that was my conscience telling me I must taste some bitterness in the midst of this betrayal.
The transaction was made, and the cart guy accidentally shorted me a dollar! I quickly rectified this situation but then wondered if that would’ve been appropriate penance for being a Judas Valdez. I slunk away and quickly turned right down the stairs into the concourse where the MetroCard machines awaited to justify my behavior and provide me with the debit card that would carry me home and back again over and over.
I can’t tell you which cart I’ll patronize tomorrow. If I go back to my regular guy I know he’ll ask where I’ve been. I’ve already decided to lie, to make up a story that I had a “business breakfast” or to say I was out sick. Something. Somehow I think he’ll know I’m lying, but I can’t confront him with “If only you’d shut up and carry extra-large I would never have strayed!”
Because that would be weird, and I’m no weirdo. No sir.
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