A Latte Of Old Rubbish

I went to a coffee shop recently, one I’ve held a grudge against for a little while since the manager went bat shit crazy at me for showing my girlfriend affection by cuddling and kissing her, a little peck I should add, whilst at our table, in the corner, away from everyone who didn’t seem miffed. Honestly, the hot-headed she-devil screamed at us for making a scene, when we hadn’t even made a sound and had previously gone unnoticed by the perfectly happy introverts in the rest of the room. Demonic bitch. Sorry, I’m rambling, what I meant to say was I was dragged in there again because it’s the only coffee shop in fair old Shrewsbury with comfortable furniture that you are allowed to lie down and fall asleep on, and my girlfriend and I ordered a pot of tea to share between us, which did nothing short of earn my disappointment and remind me one of the other reasons I avoid coffee shops nowadays.

The teapot was a cutesy little blue clay pot, around the size of a fist, with the most ridiculous little spout that was barely that long in comparison to a beetle’s dick and about as useful for pouring tea as a pancake is for digging a grave. The cups were wide at the top but again tiny and could only really hold what I could spit into it. As for the tea itself, flavourless and overpriced – £3.00 for a pot worth four tiny teacups, which in itself would probably only just about fill a mug. For the record, since when did a standard cup of tea become ‘English Breakfast’ tea? I drink tea pretty much all fucking day, not just at breakfast. If I say tea, you will serve me a teabag subjected to boiling water whilst sat in a teapot then poured into a mug, a mug bigger than my testicles I might add, that has a splash of milk and two sugars at the bottom. I am not Arthur Dent and you are not a computer, why do I need to go through a routine with you from Douglas Adams’ most well-known book? Earl Grey is Earl Grey, tea is tea.

I’ve decided I don’t buy into the coffee shop craze, tried it and liked it for a while when I was younger but that was before it really caught on, that’s right, ultimate hipster here folks, was a hipster before the hipsters were hipsters or hipster trends were even established. I only ever visited them late at night mind you, when the only other people who’d be there would be people I knew or people who just wanted somewhere to work in peace. As my budget tightens and my cynicism flowers into a hideous plant made of shit, I’ve noticed though that for what it is, it’s overpriced and not too much in it. I’d probably spend more time and money in these places if they didn’t ask me to empty my wallet for half a cup of tea then offer me the most expensive cakes imaginable, which measure in at the same dimensions at my finger. Call me a philistine but I do sometimes think I got more bang for my buck from old cafes, who lack the pretentious prettiness of your cute coffee shops but at least they know what size a cup of tea is and that I want it to come from a teabag that came in a multipack, not the extracted nostril hairs of a mystic yak or however these ‘fancy’ brands come about.

One argument you might hear is that it’s not just the food and drink you come out for, it’s the atmosphere of a coffee shop – the smell of the coffee brewing, the sound of cups and tea spoons clattering and the crowds of dapper and intelligent academics sat around discussing literature and art all around you… or at least, so you think. From what I’ve seen, everyone thinks this is the case so everyone turns up expecting to become part of this stylish crowd of super swots from the planet of book-smart sex gods so suddenly the coffee shop becomes jam-packed with anyone and everyone then your paradise of poetry becomes little more than a pretentious service station. I don’t hold some sort of elitist grudge against people entering a coffee shop if they don’t intend to mention at least one classical composer but my point is that if everyone goes to a coffee shop to feel like sophisticated somebodies then they’re not, they are just buying in on a fad. Irony fucks in the arse here as well, because the main customers of coffee shops are liberal-thinking students who hate big establishments, yet discuss their loathing of international monopolies whilst sat in Starbucks – somewhere on the same spectrum as discussing your hatred of racism with your mates from the EDL.

I guess a coffee shop is a nice place to stop off for a warm drink and a social gathering with friends, but it isn’t one in itself to be honest, not for me, and if you really want that kind of atmosphere that badly then invite your friends over and put the kettle on. You run your own cafes, all of you, it’s called your home – you’re the boss of the menu, the drinks, the music and the seating arrangements. A coffee shop is a pleasant, if pricey, pit-stop for a chat or a nice venue for a cosy little meeting between two people who aren’t on fully friendly terms yet but don’t mistake it for a place to form your day plan around – you probably don’t have the money to keep forking out on it and if you do, you’d get more for it buying a tin of biscuits and a packet of teabags to go home with.


10 thoughts on “A Latte Of Old Rubbish

  1. Let me remind you that a coffee shop is not the place for affectionate displays and it certainly isn’t a place for sleeping. That is certainly not what I want as a customer when I go for a latte.


    • Affectionate display in our case was a single little kiss, a tasteful and considerate gesture that was barely noticed by anyone in the room, not full on hardcore action on a table. Surely a single little quiet kiss and a cuddle in the corner isn’t an offence to you my friend, or does the thought of emotional attachment between two living creatures make your heartbeat go funny? Alice sleeps a lot because she is suffering from Myalgic Encephalomyelitis and so often feels exhausted after even a minimal exertion of effort on her part, not because she is lazy or just decided to do so on a whim. A coffee shop aims to sell itself on being a sanctuary of peace that provides refreshments, thus the comfy furniture and soft music, and so some people do just dose off accidentally. Young couples frequently visit coffee shops because they set up a nice atmosphere so if cuddling and kissing in public makes you feel queasy, might I suggest you get your coffee and bolt for the door before someone smiles too hard in your direction? I hate to be a twat… Tell a lie, no I don’t… but comments like yours are a shit-stain on my carpet so to speak and I do so love kicking shit into the dog responsible with my steel-toe capped boots of arrogant buffoonery!


      • Yes, it’s a free country, to the extent that you can say that the guy who talks loudly on his mobile in a lift is doing so without breaking any laws. But when you’re in a shop that is run on customer loyalty and satisfaction, they’re perfectly within their rights to politely ask you to stop what was an excessive PDA, which was clearly making other customers feel uncomfortable. Even removing from the equation the discomfort you caused others, you had your feet up on the chairs, which, in any building bar your own home – even a ‘sanctuary of peace’ – is rude, and makes a polite request to stop perfectly acceptable.


        • Politely ask away and I’d stop, but this woman did not ask – she screamed in our face, in an otherwise near silent shop, that we were disgusting attention seekers and should get a room. I’m not so pigheaded that if asked not to do something that disturbs other people in a cafe, I’d continue, but our experience was not of a calm request but rather a barked order with little to no justification for such outrage


          • I think we all know that’s not true. You over-reacted to being asked to stop. And while you base all your arguments on the premise that you disagree with everyone, and have a right to do so; God forbid anyone should disagree with you. As we all know, disagreeing with you gets a passive-aggressive Facebook status written about you, implying it’s some great injustice to have presented a contrary point of view. I calmly and respectfully (despite having no respect for you, I might add) disagreed with you, and you accused me of not having any faith in my own argument, whilst pleading to Facebook to take your side. If you had any faith in your own argument, you wouldn’t feel the need to. I, on the other hand remained anonymous because I wanted to make a point in defence of a cafe I love, without being bothered for it, and because not everything I write is a pseudo-intellects shameless attempt at self-promotion.

            Seeing as I’m going to bed now, and will hope never to see your blog again, I’ll add: you have ridiculous delusions of grandeur and should seek help.


            • You weren’t there and if you knew the manager of said coffee shop, you’d possibly be aware she has a frightful temper and I was approached afterwards by people who were there at the time to ask if I was offended and considering a formal complaint. I do not think it unjust to oppose me, but if you’re going to do so then make it worth my time to read, seeing as I put a lot of time and effort into making this blog worthwhile for other people and if you’re going to leave a mark on it, make it count. I know this blog has an audience because the view meter on WordPress for my blog is close to 1800 views, in over 5 different countries, so if you don’t like it then by all means, I’m not forcing you to stick around. You’re a friend of mine on Facebook Mister Realname, though that term appears to be used in a loose manner and should probably be corrected but seeing as you stand behind an alias, how can I do anything about it without you identifying yourself? I didn’t look for support, if you read the status carefully then you’ll notice I was asking that if people want to contradict my viewpoint, why do they hide behind falsehoods? You honestly think I’d hound you for it like some sort of parasite? Come now, get over yourself, got better things to do then stalk and kill anyone who disagrees with me – I’m a writer, not a Nazi.

              I feel so upset you’re leaving this blog for good, I really really do. Come back, please, I miss you. Look look, I got a lot of fucks to not give to you, you contrary tart. As for delusions of grandeur and seeking help well I’ll add that I don’t think myself greater than anyone, but simply something entirely different and I have a general loathing of most living creatures as a rule. I am currently seeking counselling, not that you or anyone else cares.


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