Barista
Here's a short story I wrote recently... for your exclusive reading pleasure...
Barista is a medium-sized open air café, which is enclosed on three sides by a plain white wall, five feet high. My first impression as soon as I entered the place was that it was so….ORANGE!
The theme colour is orange but it doesn’t cause temporary blindness when you look at it. It’s not THAT bright. It’s a muted shade. The colour is not dull but it has a pleasant weather-beaten quality to it. The large umbrellas giving shade to the table and chairs crowding under them are orange. So is the table. The chairs are plastic and metal affairs and they are an electric blue which goes very well with the orange. The tiled floor is very faded orange.
The place is almost empty as it is noon and too hot to sit in an outdoor café, yet the place has a certain vitality. It has a sunken path marked by raised flowerbeds on both sides running right through the middle of the space and leading to the shop which is air-conditioned. The flowerbeds have small pink flowers in bloom which look lovely.
As soon as I enter the small shop I am hit with a powerful aroma of fresh coffee. I breathe in deeply to savour the smell. I am looking at the display menu behind the single teller when two girls walk in. One of them catches my eye. She is lovely and very aware that she is beautiful. She has large brown animated eyes and long black hair. She’s wearing a grey spaghetti top which shows ample cleavage and even more of her well toned mid-riff, low-waist black jeans that show-off her pink thong. Her black pencil heels tic-toc very loudly as she walks towards me. Her eyes are everywhere. She is coolly surveying me up and down. She looks like a man-eater on the prowl.
I quickly order a cappuccino and a chicken-tikka sandwich. We are in India and they are working hard to Indianize their menu, I note dryly. It does not amuse me. If I had to eat Indian food, I would go to an Indian joint. If I want a good cup of cappuccino and a smoked salmon sandwich I’ll come to this place. Sadly, the smoked salmon is not available so I settle on the tikka sandwich.
I light up a cigarette as I wait for my coffee and start writing this. The man-eater is very interested. I can sense her looking at me. The girls place their order and come and sit right opposite me where I have a very good frontal view of the man-eater. The place is almost empty. Why couldn’t they go and sit somewhere else? I could do without the distraction. The man-eater is leaning forwards while talking conspiratorially to her friend. This causes her breasts to almost fall out of her top. I can’t seem to keep my eyes off her.
I sneak another peak at those beautiful breasts and this time she catches me fair and square, looking. It’s very embarrassing. I look away and try to appear uninterested but she is pulling my gaze like a moth to the flame. I risk another peek. She’s been waiting for me to do that and immediately catches me. There’s an amused look in her eyes. She very purposefully leans over further over the table talking to her friend to ‘enhance’ my view and I am absolutely shocked.
Just like that, the spell is broken. I am no longer interested in her or Barista. I go back to my writing in earnest and she starts talking loudly to her friend. Finally the bearer comes with my coffee and sandwich. I wolf down my sandwich. I want to get away from here quickly. I take a sip of the coffee. It’s very good and leaves a very rich, slightly bitter aftertaste in my mouth. I love it. I hurriedly finish my food and leave a tip for the waiter. I vow to never come back again.
Barista is a medium-sized open air café, which is enclosed on three sides by a plain white wall, five feet high. My first impression as soon as I entered the place was that it was so….ORANGE!
The theme colour is orange but it doesn’t cause temporary blindness when you look at it. It’s not THAT bright. It’s a muted shade. The colour is not dull but it has a pleasant weather-beaten quality to it. The large umbrellas giving shade to the table and chairs crowding under them are orange. So is the table. The chairs are plastic and metal affairs and they are an electric blue which goes very well with the orange. The tiled floor is very faded orange.
The place is almost empty as it is noon and too hot to sit in an outdoor café, yet the place has a certain vitality. It has a sunken path marked by raised flowerbeds on both sides running right through the middle of the space and leading to the shop which is air-conditioned. The flowerbeds have small pink flowers in bloom which look lovely.
As soon as I enter the small shop I am hit with a powerful aroma of fresh coffee. I breathe in deeply to savour the smell. I am looking at the display menu behind the single teller when two girls walk in. One of them catches my eye. She is lovely and very aware that she is beautiful. She has large brown animated eyes and long black hair. She’s wearing a grey spaghetti top which shows ample cleavage and even more of her well toned mid-riff, low-waist black jeans that show-off her pink thong. Her black pencil heels tic-toc very loudly as she walks towards me. Her eyes are everywhere. She is coolly surveying me up and down. She looks like a man-eater on the prowl.
I quickly order a cappuccino and a chicken-tikka sandwich. We are in India and they are working hard to Indianize their menu, I note dryly. It does not amuse me. If I had to eat Indian food, I would go to an Indian joint. If I want a good cup of cappuccino and a smoked salmon sandwich I’ll come to this place. Sadly, the smoked salmon is not available so I settle on the tikka sandwich.
I light up a cigarette as I wait for my coffee and start writing this. The man-eater is very interested. I can sense her looking at me. The girls place their order and come and sit right opposite me where I have a very good frontal view of the man-eater. The place is almost empty. Why couldn’t they go and sit somewhere else? I could do without the distraction. The man-eater is leaning forwards while talking conspiratorially to her friend. This causes her breasts to almost fall out of her top. I can’t seem to keep my eyes off her.
I sneak another peak at those beautiful breasts and this time she catches me fair and square, looking. It’s very embarrassing. I look away and try to appear uninterested but she is pulling my gaze like a moth to the flame. I risk another peek. She’s been waiting for me to do that and immediately catches me. There’s an amused look in her eyes. She very purposefully leans over further over the table talking to her friend to ‘enhance’ my view and I am absolutely shocked.
Just like that, the spell is broken. I am no longer interested in her or Barista. I go back to my writing in earnest and she starts talking loudly to her friend. Finally the bearer comes with my coffee and sandwich. I wolf down my sandwich. I want to get away from here quickly. I take a sip of the coffee. It’s very good and leaves a very rich, slightly bitter aftertaste in my mouth. I love it. I hurriedly finish my food and leave a tip for the waiter. I vow to never come back again.
posted by gubs at 3:11 PM
1 Comments:
Hey Gubs!
Read your piece. I think it was a decent attempt! well done.
But there is little that I want to add here. First a statutory warning: "I am no feminist".(lol)
After reading this sober piece of your experience I feel that you need to look deeper than just an "ample cleavage" when it comes to women. Do you know women absolutely love attention. They will do all sorts of things to sustain that "look" (pun intented) on them.This should not scare you off, instead use it to your advantage!! You are a man and women love you! Next time dont get so disturbed, instead manipulate this opportunity to your advantage!!!
Best of luck
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