Coffee Dean

ILLUSTRATION by BOB AUL

Me: a weary working slob looking forward to a professionally made Saturday-morning latte, with my nose in the newspaper and minding my own business. You: two females of the self-entitlement class, allowing your little girls to turn a Second Street coffee establishment into a kiddie playhouse—and making it virtually impossible to mind my own business. Here’s what I noticed: your adorably garbed, miniature human dollies with their dirty hands and boogers (just like kids everywhere else) dividing their time between running from the wall to the back counter and playing kitchen with the pretty red plastic filter holders and straws, making “coffee” while you two had your own play date at the breakfast nook at the other end of the establishment. When the girls started dumping the boxes of filters on the floor a couple of inches from me, I softly told them that this wasn’t a playground and that people needed to buy these things. That got your attention, all right—and boy, did you show me! You came over, took the filter from one of the girls, and pretended to drink from it, saying, yumyumyum, that was the best coffee you ever had. (When Daddy finally came by, he joined the fun.) Guess none of you had a proper upbringing, either. What’s it going to take—someone tripping over your kids and spilling hot drinks all over them? Nope—you’ll just sue the store and the hapless consumer, and top it off by sending along the cleaning bill for the ruined red frocks.

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