Flat What?

I was walking from the train to the office today. As is normal, I stopped in to get a coffee to brace myself for the day ahead.

I was not in the best of spirits it must be said, having had a dream during the night that there was something under the floorboards of my house and it was trying to get me. Needless to say, I have not had a dream like that for some years. I woke up in quite the lather.

On the plus side though, after waking up in the middle of the night drenched in fear sweat, the final plot lines of Uncle Boom's next instalment were coming together in my head. By golly, I was pleased at that and no mistake. It seems that justice of a sort may be finally catching up with old Uncle Boom.

A bit of a shame as I enjoyed writing about the murderous old gentleman immensely. No spoilers though!

So I got to the top of the line in the coffee shop and waited to be served. This is one of my favourite coffee shops because a) the coffee is rather tasty, b) The serving girl looks like she listens to Slayer and is quite disdainful to all she serves.

Which I find quite appealing.

Anyway, I digress. So I get there and grumpily notice that metal chick who can make coffee is not about, damn, I hope she hasn't told the boss to go and fuck himself or something?

Instead of her there is a plastic smiled waif of a girl. She beams at me.

Good morning! Can I take your order?

Hmmph, good question. Can you? I think bad temperedly.

Yes, Flat white to go please and good morning.

From the depths of my early morning barren soul, I muster a half smile. After all. It's nearly Christmas.

I stand back with the other well-dressed vaginas awaiting similar orders.

After a mere minute or two, she beckons. I walk over, hand out to receive my legal high.

Gingerbread Latte, extra hot! Merry Christmas!

I stand and give her a basilisk stare. Eventually I manage to speak without swearing.

No, I ordered a flat white to go.

Her plastic smile crumbled away to be replaced with a snarl like a dog gnawing at a ham bone. If that ham bone was the thigh bone on my cooling corpse.

It was a Gingerbread Latte, Extra hot.

She stated through gritted teeth.

I can't stand flavoured coffee. I would never order that in a million years. Even if it was free.

She flounced round to the barista.

Paul, did he order a Gingerbread Latte? He did, didn't he?

Nothing like leading the witness you snarly boot. I thought. Paul shrugged his shoulders as if to say, how the fuck would I know. I am Paul.

At the shrug of the shoulders, the girl rolled her eyes and muttered.

For fuck sake.

Another minute or two later she aggressively thumped my coffee down.

Flat White, Extra hot, to go.

She readied to turn her back.

I didn't order it extra hot. I don't like it extra hot. It makes the coffee bitter.

I sounded like an arse. She glared at me like I was an arse. The rest of the customers stared at me as if I was an arse who had just rubbed shit on a tiger's face.

Snarly shit-faced tiger girl trembled as if about to explode. Then the most amazing thing happened. She swallowed and you could visibly see the vitriol, hate and disgust being swallowed away inside. Deep deep down inside. That can't be good for you, I thought.

She smiled, quite plastically obviously.

Of course, sir, Paul, could you make this gentleman a Flat White, NOT extra hot?

She stared at me still smiling that big old fake smile.

I smiled back, my smile all badgers testicles and sharp glass. A gentleman eh? Hmm, inspiration comes from the funniest places sometimes...