On one of my foggy-brained days, my husband decided to whip into my favorite coffee shop to surprise me with some high-octane writing fuel. I was hesitant because of the calories. Our daughter was in the back seat asking a million questions my mind couldn’t answer, and I knew it would be a long night ahead. I was so exhausted I shrugged, gave a small smile and said, “thanks, sounds good.” By the time I finally gave an answer he had to turn around in traffic half a mile down the road to get back to the place. This is true love.
“Want to go in?” He asked. I looked back at daughter, becoming wired at 8pm because she’s like me, a night owl. “I don’t think so,” I said. I was beginning to say let me go in and order, I like it a certain way, when he pulled up to the drive-thru speaker and the barista’s voice boomed out through the speaker.
“Good Evening. May I take your order please?” A friendly male voice said.
You know that moment when you think of something before you say it? Yeah, well, I don’t either. Especially that evening. Hubs was motioning for me to give my order to the barista. The problem was, the speaker was faaaarrrr away. So, I had to shout to the speaker from the passenger’s side. Then I opened my mouth and it happened.
“Erm. I’d like an iced coffee please, but I like it sweet and creamy. Can you make it sweet and creamy?” I shouted, probably loud enough for a person to hear a mile away.
There was a chuckle from the barista, and a deeper voice answered, “I can make it sweet and creamy for you, girl.”
“Oh my God,” hubs looked up at the truck ceiling, shaking his head. I could see him biting back a small smile, but he’d never admit to it.
I laughed, finally realizing what happened. “What?!” I asked hubs when he glared at me, still fighting back a grin.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” he grumbled. I just shrugged. “I like my coffee a certain way,” I said.
We pulled up to the window and the friendly barista stretched out his arm with my high-octane fuel, handing it to my husband. He looked over at me, “sweet and creamy, just like you wanted,” and gave me a bright smile and a wink.
“Uhm, thanks!” I smiled back politely.
Hubs peeled out of the parking lot, the coffee sloshing, but not spilling because the lid was secure.
Now maybe if I could only think on those foggy-brained days without caffeine, these awkward instances wouldn’t happen. But, that would be no fun. I’m easily amused. So, there you have it. My sort-of erotic encounter with a drive-thru barista.