The girl in front of me looks like she’s made of plastic.  Her face reveals poorly executed mascara and eyeliner.  There’s a twang of arrogance in her voice as she orders a venti vanilla latte with skim milk; she chooses the skim milk to make her feel like she isn’t ordering something completely horrible.  Her shirt is far too small for her body and for a moment, I ponder if this girl is homeless.  Then I question why she’s ordering a $4 drink at Starbucks’.  I take a sip of my coffee and discover it’s still too hot.   

I am a habitual coffee drinker.  It can sometimes tragically be the highlight of my day, but that doesn’t bother me.  My brother, Sean, has worked off and on at Starbuck’s since I was fourteen.  He would enlighten me with his opinions upon different blends, almost always referring to hints of a fruit I didn’t taste in the coffee at all.  In the morning, my dorm room always smells like the latest blend that the coffee chain has to offer for a ridiculous price.  One of the many perks of working at Starbucks is receiving a free bag of coffee every week.  I would constantly smell, hear about, or taste the exquisite flavors the store was offering.  Slowly but surely, I learned the ways of a coffee drinker.

Drinking coffee has changed me.  I would spend my Sunday mornings with my brother discussing our beverages.  I explored the complexities of coffee that my brother elaborated on.  Not only that, but I began to pay more attention to the complexities about people.  As strange as it may sound, coffee attributes to an aspect of my personality.  I’d like to call myself an observant person.  I pay attention to the little details of a person’s presentation, even if they don’t notice.

One afternoon, I spontaneously took a bus to downtown Amherst to go to Amherst Coffee.  Entering the building, I can feel my face flush as I walk into the warm animated room.  I order my drink, teasing my senses with aromas of espresso in the air.  I sit down at the counter with my medium coffee in hand, and begin to observe.

The man with his Macbook Pro sits in the corner, alone, sipping on his large drink.  I’m guessing it’s something strong and bitter to make him seem even more like a coffee shop regular.  I glance nearby and see another patron; a grey-haired, middle-aged woman moves her arm up and down, lifting a tea bag to make it somehow more flavorful that way.  She holds a novel with her other hand, staring intently through her horn-rimmed glasses.  I ponder as to why she needs to fiddle with the tea bag with one hand and read with the other.  What is she going to do when she needs to flip the page?  Will the tea not be as flavorful because of the page-turn? Is it that necessary?  I take a sip from my mug.  The coffee’s still too hot.