A visit to the Moon Dollar Coffee Shop
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By Jim Thompson
HCP columnist
When I am out of the office, I normally buy my coffee at a gas station. There is a brand here in Atlanta I really like – get gas, get my coffee. The stores are always impeccably clean. The coffee is easy. I go up to the machine and punch what I want (fat-free French vanilla) and voilà, I have it in a jiffy for about 99 cents.
This particular day, I was out in a distant suburb for lunch with a client, and then I was going to meet Laura afterward in the same area for yet another consultation with yet another doctor on her never-healing right knee. No point in driving home, but I had a bit of a time gap to fill, so I thought I would go into one of these foo-foo coffee shops I am always hearing about.
I was met just inside the door by my (as she explained) “Order Facilitation Ambassador or OFA for short.” A pleasant young lady, probably about 20, with a ring in her nose and hair done up in a unique braid on the back of her head, wait a minute, I can just make it out. Yes! It said "Liz and Bernie for co-presidents."
Anyhow, she took me to the line. There were only seven or eight people in front of me. After all, it was about 1:30 in the afternoon and apparently these nice young folks had nothing else to do.
OFA provided lovely chit-chat and before you know it, it was 1:50 and I was next in line to place my order. Should make 2 p.m. for order placement, easy.
Oops. Yet another young lady was still in front of me. She had questions. She wanted to apply for a Moon Dollar credit card. The man behind the cash register (the one with the man bun) asked her if she had a job.
“Well, no.” was the demur reply.
“No problem, I am sure you can get one of your parents to sign the application.”
“Actually, my parents and I don’t get along,” she replied. Then she brightened, “Maybe you could sign it for me, you have a job.”
He said, “Depends. I don’t have a person friend right now, do you?”
“No,” she said.
Cash register guy said, “Good, you can move in with me and I will sign for you.”
She said, “That’s great, I just have a few more questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“I have seen cards in green, pink and topaz. I had my heart set on one in azure. Do you have one in azure?”
He looked through all the racks, “Ah, yes, here is one in azure!”
“Now my next question, is this card made of recycled plastic?”
Cash register boy googled it on his phone. “No, I am afraid not, it only comes in virgin plastic.”
“Virgin plastic! Are you people out of your minds?”
She stomped out.
OFA said to me, “Your turn, sir.”
“Quite a breakup,” I said as an icebreaker to open the ordering procedure.
He looked at me grumpily. “What do you want old man?”
“I would like a tall, skinny White Chocolate Mocha.”
“OK. That will be $35.”
I fumbled around in my wallet to find a card that had that much room on it before going over the limit. Found one I was sure would work, crossed my fingers, paid (it went through), and then reverently stood back out of the way, awaiting my order.
After a while, another nice lady came over to see me. She had this stainless-steel rod through her right ear that connected to a chain that seemed to disappear into the front of her blouse. I was not asking any questions.
“Jim?” she inquired, for that was the name I had given for reserving my beverage. “I am your Beverage Advocate. The baristas have stopped working on your order, because you asked for a “Skinny White Chocolate Mocha.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Well, they just wanted me to tell you that they can make a White Chocolate Mocha with skim milk and not put any whipped cream on it, but it technically is not ‘skinny’ because it will still have sugar in it.”
“That’s fine, tell them to go ahead.”
My “Skinny” White Chocolate Mocha came. When I got outside, it was dark. I hope Laura did not need my support at the doctor’s appointment.
Jim Thompson, formerly of Marshall, is a graduate of Hillsboro High School and the University of Cincinnati. He resides in Duluth, Ga. and is a columnist for The Highland County Press.
HCP columnist
When I am out of the office, I normally buy my coffee at a gas station. There is a brand here in Atlanta I really like – get gas, get my coffee. The stores are always impeccably clean. The coffee is easy. I go up to the machine and punch what I want (fat-free French vanilla) and voilà, I have it in a jiffy for about 99 cents.
This particular day, I was out in a distant suburb for lunch with a client, and then I was going to meet Laura afterward in the same area for yet another consultation with yet another doctor on her never-healing right knee. No point in driving home, but I had a bit of a time gap to fill, so I thought I would go into one of these foo-foo coffee shops I am always hearing about.
I was met just inside the door by my (as she explained) “Order Facilitation Ambassador or OFA for short.” A pleasant young lady, probably about 20, with a ring in her nose and hair done up in a unique braid on the back of her head, wait a minute, I can just make it out. Yes! It said "Liz and Bernie for co-presidents."
Anyhow, she took me to the line. There were only seven or eight people in front of me. After all, it was about 1:30 in the afternoon and apparently these nice young folks had nothing else to do.
OFA provided lovely chit-chat and before you know it, it was 1:50 and I was next in line to place my order. Should make 2 p.m. for order placement, easy.
Oops. Yet another young lady was still in front of me. She had questions. She wanted to apply for a Moon Dollar credit card. The man behind the cash register (the one with the man bun) asked her if she had a job.
“Well, no.” was the demur reply.
“No problem, I am sure you can get one of your parents to sign the application.”
“Actually, my parents and I don’t get along,” she replied. Then she brightened, “Maybe you could sign it for me, you have a job.”
He said, “Depends. I don’t have a person friend right now, do you?”
“No,” she said.
Cash register guy said, “Good, you can move in with me and I will sign for you.”
She said, “That’s great, I just have a few more questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“I have seen cards in green, pink and topaz. I had my heart set on one in azure. Do you have one in azure?”
He looked through all the racks, “Ah, yes, here is one in azure!”
“Now my next question, is this card made of recycled plastic?”
Cash register boy googled it on his phone. “No, I am afraid not, it only comes in virgin plastic.”
“Virgin plastic! Are you people out of your minds?”
She stomped out.
OFA said to me, “Your turn, sir.”
“Quite a breakup,” I said as an icebreaker to open the ordering procedure.
He looked at me grumpily. “What do you want old man?”
“I would like a tall, skinny White Chocolate Mocha.”
“OK. That will be $35.”
I fumbled around in my wallet to find a card that had that much room on it before going over the limit. Found one I was sure would work, crossed my fingers, paid (it went through), and then reverently stood back out of the way, awaiting my order.
After a while, another nice lady came over to see me. She had this stainless-steel rod through her right ear that connected to a chain that seemed to disappear into the front of her blouse. I was not asking any questions.
“Jim?” she inquired, for that was the name I had given for reserving my beverage. “I am your Beverage Advocate. The baristas have stopped working on your order, because you asked for a “Skinny White Chocolate Mocha.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Well, they just wanted me to tell you that they can make a White Chocolate Mocha with skim milk and not put any whipped cream on it, but it technically is not ‘skinny’ because it will still have sugar in it.”
“That’s fine, tell them to go ahead.”
My “Skinny” White Chocolate Mocha came. When I got outside, it was dark. I hope Laura did not need my support at the doctor’s appointment.
Jim Thompson, formerly of Marshall, is a graduate of Hillsboro High School and the University of Cincinnati. He resides in Duluth, Ga. and is a columnist for The Highland County Press.