Cappuccino

A cappuccino for those who have never experienced one, (and there is a good chance you haven't) is made up of one third mind-blowingly strong espresso, one third hot milk, and one third froth. It is a drink that I take incredible pleasure in. When I see it advertised in a coffee shop I always feel a surge of expectancy, a quickening of the heart, a watering of the mouth and anticipation for the caffine hit that it will achieve.

I am aware that this excitement is foolish; I should have learnt by now, but like Peter Pan I never do. Each time I am tricked I feel the crushing disappointment as though it was the first time. I go to the counter and enquire as to what a cappuccino is. I figure it’s a good idea to be certain, to check that we agree on the terminology, that the drink I will pay for is indeed the drink I long for. The person behind the counter invariably gives me a look that conveys to me that this enquiry will result in him spitting in my cup. Clearly annoyed, they describe to me a cappuccino that fills me with hope, and so in good faith I part with money.

Now, okay, I know what you are thinking; "Why is someone in so much debt buying a cappuccino?"....but surely, dear reader, you will allow me this pleasure? This once in a while treat? To sit down with a good book and drink this sweet nectar?

I take my seat and wait with all the innocence of a child, and then at last it arrives..a white coffee made from stale, weak coffee with a small layer of lightly frothed semi-skimmed milk. I take a sip and my worst fears are realised: It's foul. I complain, object, protest and point out the unfairness of it all, I explain that this coffee is what is wrong with the world, that it expresses (expresses…see what I did there…never mind..) the decline of the service industry, that it symbolises the mediocrity that has become the norm, I explain that what erks me more than anything is the dishonesty of it all. If he had told me that,at this particular establishment,a cappuccino is, in fact a weak white coffee with a small layer of froth on top I could have made an educated decision as to whether I wanted it or not. He lied to me. He deceived me.

At this point the waiter asks if I want the coffee or not, and my wife drags me away, and suggests that we could just pick up a carton of juice from the newsagents. She asks me,
as she has asked me so many times before, why I order it when I know whats going to happen…

"Surely though" I tell her, "one day, I will find a place where they don’t lie, where the coffee is all it should be and could be, where the sofas are comfortable, where the music is bearable"...
.I’m not ready to give up my search for heaven on earth just yet..

Yours as always,

The broken man.