The indignity. It started with a simple trip to the coffee shop. I walked in, greeted by the barista’s chipper smile, and ordered my usual cappuccino. But as I waited for my drink, I noticed something that would set off a chain reaction of events that would leave me questioning the very fabric of society.
The barista, whose name tag read “Jen,” was humming along to the music playing in the background. Now, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure humming is not exactly the most efficient way to multitask while operating heavy machinery – or in this case, a steam wand. I mean, what if she got distracted and scalded herself? Or worse, me?
As I pondered this existential threat, I began to notice that Jen seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time to prepare my drink. I checked my watch for the third time in as many minutes, mentally calculating the optimal brewing time for a cappuccino (it’s 3:14, by the way). She must have been trying to sabotage me.
I glanced around the coffee shop, searching for an ally or someone who would share my outrage. But everyone seemed oblivious to Jen’s obvious incompetence. They were all sipping their drinks, chatting with friends, or staring blankly into their phones – completely unaware of the danger lurking behind the counter.
Meanwhile, I was seething. My mind racing with worst-case scenarios: What if she spilled scalding milk on me? What if she forgot to add the foam? The injustice! As I stood there, fuming, Jen finally called out my name and handed me my drink. But it was too late – I’d already reached a state of heightened alert.
I took a sip, inspecting the contents with a critical eye. It looked…fine. Not exactly the perfect ratio of espresso to milk, but fine. I considered sending it back, but something about Jen’s cheerful demeanor stayed my hand. Maybe she was just having an off day? Or maybe – and this is what really got me thinking – maybe she was intentionally trying to gaslight me.
As I pondered this conspiracy theory, I noticed a guy sitting in the corner, typing away on his laptop. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. Was he a journalist researching an exposé on coffee shop sabotage? Or perhaps a private investigator hired by Jen’s nemesis to uncover her sinister plot?
I found myself imagining a confrontation with this mystery man. “Excuse me, sir,” I’d say, my voice low and serious, “but I think we both know what’s really going on here.” He’d look up from his laptop, startled, and I’d reveal the shocking truth about Jen’s humming-induced incompetence.
But of course, that never happened. Instead, I stood there, frozen in indecision, as the mystery man packed up his things and left without so much as a nod in my direction. It was as if he didn’t even notice me – or perhaps, more likely, he simply didn’t care.
As I took another sip of my subpar cappuccino, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been played. That Jen had somehow manipulated me into thinking she was trying to sabotage me when in reality, she was just…making coffee. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Was I paranoid? Or was everyone else just too complacent?
And then, just as I was about to leave, I saw it: the barista’s name tag read “Jen” with a little smiley face underneath. It was almost as if she’d anticipated my reaction and was laughing at me all along.
Or maybe – and this is what really gets me – maybe I’m just reading too much into things. Maybe it’s just a coffee shop, and Jen is just trying to do her job without any ulterior motives. But no, that can’t be right. There must be more to it than that…
…and as I stood there, staring at the smiley face on Jen’s name tag, I felt a creeping sense of unease. Was this some kind of mind game? A clever ploy to lull me into complacency before striking with a subpar drink or a catastrophic steam wand malfunction? I glanced around the coffee shop again, searching for any sign of surveillance or hidden cameras.
My eyes landed on the pastry case, where a particularly enticing croissant seemed to be calling my name. But was it just a clever distraction? A way to take my attention away from Jen’s sinister plotting? I took a step closer to the counter, my heart racing with anticipation.
Suddenly, the lights in the coffee shop flickered and dimmed for a brief moment. It was probably just a minor electrical glitch, but to me, it seemed like a sign – a warning that I was getting close to uncovering the truth. I took another step closer to Jen, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Jen,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral, “can I ask you something?”
She looked up from wiping down the counter, her expression innocently curious. But I wasn’t fooled. I knew she was hiding something.
“Yes?” she replied, her smile faltering for just a moment – or so it seemed to me.
I hesitated, unsure of how to phrase my question without revealing too much. “What…what’s with the humming?” I stammered finally.
Jen’s expression didn’t change, but I could have sworn I saw a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Oh,” she said, her voice dripping with innocence, “I just like music?”
But I wasn’t buying it. There was something more to this – something beneath the surface that only a select few knew about. And I was determined to uncover it…