In mid-July, the countryside is still in full bloom. While summer is usually my season for outdoor adventures, this year I find myself staying indoors, enjoying the air-conditioning. Even the geese at Lake Brunswick seek refuge in the shade of the tall grass with their goslings, emerging only at dawn and dusk to parade along the water's edge.
It may be steamy here on the Carolina coast, but it's still a beautiful morning. Days that begin like one make one feel close to heaven, and, if you've been following this blog for more than a day, you're aware that it's exactly that kind of feeling that opens us up to the Fate sisters' practical jokes.
As I neared the front door of Native Grounds, I was feeling full of the energizing bunny. My step was peppy, and I moved with lithesome grace, or something approximating lithesome grace.
On mornings like this, I greet everyone I see with a boisterous Good Morning! I wave to the baristas in the kitchen, and I shake hands with the other customers. On occasion, I've even been known to slap backs and elbow ribs.
In short, I'm a nuisance to everyone I encounter and, naturally, this behavior has lost me a great many friends. But still, if you observe my face, you will notice that my eyes wear a smile even if my lips don't. In a nutshell, I'm encouraging, uplifting, and cheerful to a point just short of being manic.
This morning, like many before it, found me on a mission to fetch a cup of Jah's Mercy for Ms. Wonder. It's a mission that never fails to remind me of an episode of the TV show, Frasier; the one that begins with Niles ordering a latte in Cafe Nervosa.
I decided to share this bit of humor with the young barista who greeted me when I entered the cafe and who was waiting to take my order.
"Good morning," she said, "what can I get you?"
"Have you ever watched Frasier on TV?" I asked because I realize that the 20th century is ancient history to a large and growing segment of the public.
"What's the name of it?" she said.
"Ah," I said, realizing that I needed another lead-in.
"It's an old television show," I said, "and there's a scene in a coffee shop when Nile's complicated coffee order gets garbled because he has to have it just so."
"Who's Miles?" she asked.
"Niles," I said.
"Yeah, who is he?" she said.
I'd made a blunder with the introduction, I realized, but who among us is always perfectly eloquent, right? Still, one should always strive to at least get the ball over the net, as my French tutor is fond of saying. I tried to recover.
"You see, Niles asked for a double short, no-foam, low-fat latte, but when the order was verbally passed on to the person who would actually make the drink, it was described as a double short, no-fat, low-foam latte."
Her face took on a sort of pained expression. The eyebrows were wedged together, and the nose was scrunched. I didn't feel good about it at all. Obviously, I'd lobbed the ball straight into the net again.
"You see, the no-foam, low-fat part of the order had become no-fat, low-foam," I said, hoping to clear up the confusion.
"She glanced at the barista behind the muffin display with an expression that seemed to say, 'Please help me.'
"Oh, well," I said, "never mind. It's an on-location situation." But my retraction didn't seem to help her feel any better about it. I'm certain she was thinking how comforting it would be to have a vial of pepper spray in her pocket.
I decided to try a different tack completely. "I've always wondered about that order," I said, "just what is a double short latte anyway?"
She shook her head, "I don't know," she said, her concern growing deeper. "What can I get for you?"
Now, I encourage my qigong students to embrace the spirit of that old adage that a person should always know their limits and acknowledge when it's time to cut their losses and run for it.
"Oh, I'll just have a double cappuccino to go," I said.
The double capp was just what the doctor prescribed and was an excellent morning pick-me-up for the drive back home.
When I finished it, I drove back to the cafe to get another for Ms. Wonder because, due to the double-short imbroglio, I'd forgotten hers. When I arrived home for the second time that morning, Ms. Wonder asked how my double-short visits to the cafe had gone.
"Well," I said, "I discovered that explaining a twenty-year-old sitcom joke to someone who's never heard of the show is a lot like ordering a double short, no-foam, low-fat latte—no matter how carefully you think you're communicating, something important always gets lost in translation."
She only smiled, took her coffee in one hand, and patted my head with the other. "That's a good boy," she said.
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