I go through the drive thru of a new coffee shop around eleven pm, just of the turn pike. There is still a backhoe in the front parking lot and I am greeted by a friendly baristo. Yea, I think that's what you call a male worker in an espresso bar. It’s obvious English isn’t his first language and when he asks me what I want I say, “One Espresso, please.”
“A what?” I hear him echo back.
“One Espresso, please.”
“Excuse me, sir, can you please pull around.”
Once I get to the pick up window he motions to park and come inside. My wife watches as I wait for him to unlock the front door. The baristo asks me again what I want.
“Espresso”, I point to stack of the smallest cups.
“Ah, you mean sample.”
He proceeds to fill the cup with the espresso machine. “Here you go, sir.”
I take out my wallet, ready to pay the man. “No charge for the sample,” he insists.
We give each other a courteous nod as I thank him for the ‘sample’. My wife and I savor the taste and humbling story of our “free sample” all the way home.
Written for Jay Leno
Ruth Anne Wood ©
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