Racist coffee

Man: I’ll have the “Crazy Jamaican” coffee, even though that’s racist.

Me: You read it wrong. It’s actually called “Jamaican me crazy,” because the flavor is inspired by Jamaica- chocolate buttered rum. So it’s a cute play on words. It’s not racist.

Man: (looks at sign again) Oh.

Come on, buddy. Like we’d serve racist coffee.

Ignorance is… well, ignorance.

There’s a guy who comes in a few times a week and always makes a really big deal about getting fresh coffee.

He calls himself a “non coffee drinker” and gets a small with a shot of flavored syrup.

“The freshest you have!” he proclaims every single time. “I only get fresh coffee.”

I smile and nod and totally ignore his request, giving him whatever’s next in line. He has no idea. Even a coffee connoisseur has a hard time telling the difference between our fresh coffee and our coffee that’s been in an insulated air-pot for a half hour. Plus, he adds so much sugar and flavor to it, there is no way he can tell how fresh the coffee is. And he is always totally satisfied.

“Ah,” he says. “Now this is fresh.”

I can’t make this stuff up.

Anyway, the other day, the pot I was using ran out.

The guy moans and laments as I get the back-up pot (which is about a half hour fresher than the one I was using before).

“Oh no! The freshest coffee!”

I kind of ignore his cries and continue to pour the newer, fresher coffee for him.

I hand his cup to him, smiling my apology, and he takes an experimental sip.

“I guess it’s okay,” he grimaces.

It was the freshest coffee he’d had in weeks.