la vie en prose

The elusive ice latte abroad

Remember how I had a hell of a time trying to get an ice latte last summer in Vienna? Evidently the problem persists in Budapest.

My dad and I arrive at the airport with just enough time for a quick chat and an even quicker coffee. I look at the pretty standard menu and although it isn’t listed, I ask for an ice latte. “Ice coffee?” Déjà vu all over again. Damnit. Just as before, I try again.

“No, latte. Not hot, with ice. Cold.” The girl politely declines, but I’m not one to give up so easily (like, for example, the time I accidentally arrived at the airport literally 20 minutes before my plane was scheduled to depart but finagled my way onto it anyway - AND left on time) so I decline her decline. 

“But I want an ice latte. Can you put two shots of espresso into a cup of ice?” Her face indicates that what she’s understood is, “how far does the galloping fence derive the verification of Iceland before he lets it out of the cat surface train?” She says that is not possible. 3rd time’s the charm, amiright?

“Ok, so can you make a latte that is cold?” I wait for it to sink in before adding, “…with ice?” The two girls - two have now approached the counter as I have turned a simple request into a Very Big Deal - confer, all the while looking between me and the espresso machine, as if trying to decide whether or not it would be possible to either a. grind me up into tiny enough pieces to sell to the line of customers now formed behind us or b. use me as a source of milk (steamed, not cold, of course). At long last, they reach a verdict. “Ok latte cold and not hot.” Perfect!

Delighted, we step away from the counter and within seconds, my latte appears. My latte in a ceramic mug. Without ice. I’m just about to walk away and call it a win-enough when the girl clarifies, “ehhhhh… with ice?” Oh well wow golly gee, what an idea! I sure hadn’t even thought of that, thank you, that would be terrific! She walks away - forever, I feel certain - and returns with a glass half the size of my coffee cup filled to the brim with ice cubes. She half-heartedly motions as if to pour the contents of my drink into a more appropriate vessel but she suddenly realizes that one stack of plates has one more plate than the other stack and rushes off to correct it.

Now, I was a barista for many years, and I’d consider myself to be a pretty skilled one at that. And by that I mean that I felt totally prepared enough to complete the simple task of pouring one drink into another cup.

But I ain’t always right. I guess you could say, nobody’s pourfect…

When I compete against myself, I always win

I am a terribly competitive person. Remember that photo I recently posted of all my Monopoly winnings shoved into my wallet? I said it was because I was feeling sad about my lack of real money (no, seriously, Mom, I’m doing okay) but it was also partly mainly because I LOVE TO WIN, and I’m REALLY GOOD AT IT. It was the kind of game where your friend opponent lands on your hotel (I mean you’ve got like 7 of them of course it was going to happen sooner or later) and they owe you the equivalent of $600 and they only have like $7, so you say “ehh, it’s ok - I’ll just collect your “go” money next turn and we’ll call it even for now.” And then they land on your other hotel the next turn, before passing go, and you say “it’s cool, we’ll just wait until I land on yours and then it’ll really be even.” But it never is, because you both realize that you are WIPING THE FLOOR WITH HIM and you can’t even be surprised because you were BORN to WIN this game I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT!!!

Like I said, I’m extraordinarily competitive. I also often have sleeping problems. There’s a connection here - hold your horses, grasshoppers. My friend raved about a phone application called “SleepCycle”, which tracks your waking, light and deep sleeping, AND wakes you up at just the right time so you don’t feel groggy and grumpy for the first 15 minutes of the day. I thought it sounded like an interesting concept, so I downloaded it, put my phone face down on the bed next to me (just like it said) and went to sleep. The first night, my results said I had slept with “82% efficiency”. What? No. 82%? That’s like barely a “B” grade. This will not do, I said to myself. I am better than 82%. I will sleep with much better efficiency if it’s the last thing I do, mark my words, Suh-leepCy-CLE. You don’t know me.

So, I tried again last night. What was my grade this time? “93%”. An almost solid “A”. Aha! I win again! Self-five!

      

Can’t help it

Look, to be honest I rarely have trouble understanding what my coworkers are saying to me (except for the other day when my boss asked me to put all the vintage jewelry in the back, without tags, and after I dutifully removed all 73 tags and took everything off the salesfloor, she called to tell me what she’d meant for me to do was put all the vintage jewelry THAT DIDN’T HAVE A TAG ON IT in the back for her - whoops) but sometimes they say things that just crack me the fuck up.

Case in point: a pin of a dog wearing a hat was labeled as “dog in heat”. Eeeeehehehehehehehehe!

1996

• english: nineteen ninety six
• french: thousand nine hundreds four twenties sixteen