I didn’t really start drinking coffee until I had TJ. Not everyone drinks coffee here and it took me about 7 years of living in Seattle before I found this magical elixir. I don’t need it to survive but I need it to lift my spirits, to get into the routine of the day.
I’m not the jerkface who says, “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee.” Or a snob who will only drink coffee from beans that have been pooped out of southeast asian jungle creatures. I like a simple espresso with some milk and sugar swirled in.
For years I ordered a tall vanilla latte because that’s all I knew how to say. I didn’t want to venture into other parts of the menu where I would be given questions like, “Room for cream?” And I would yell, “Hell yes,” even though that is way too eager of a response.
Coffee is so easy to find in this city. I spent much of my college years behind a textbook fort in coffee shops. I ordered chai lattes because they were sweet and cost just enough to pay for my seat at the table.
You could still smoke in some cafes, so my friends and I would find a table and smoke American Spirits and talk about the pretentious people in class and since we were English majors, there were many to discuss. Then I would go home with a massive headache because I forgot I don’t smoke and my desire to be cool and accepted only temporarily shielded me from the gripping, biting, crippling headache cigarette smoke brings.
It was a different time, when my major worry was my grade point average. When I had afternoons to search bookstores. When I could fit into single digit jeans. Now I have two boys who take me to different sections of the bookstore where there are train tables, no one smokes, and if I get the luxury of ordering coffee, it’s a tall vanilla latte, not because I want it but because it’s a habit.