I got asked how many creams I wanted in my coffee at a Mickey D’s in L.A. near a Dick’s sporting goods.
I said, “six.” In New York all I gotta say is light and they know what’s up. It’s not like that anywhere else.
This lady comes back, “six?!?”
Started to second guess myself, but held my ground, “Yah six.”
This was at the tail end of a cross country road trip with only quick pit stops, where outside of Texas I learned nobody knows how to make coffee in this country.
I was ready to fight for a good cup of coffee.
I waited through a huge pause like she had to confer with someone and then after people behind me started honking she said, “okay, fine, pull forward.”
I expected there to be an argument when I got to window. The manager would lean out and warn me, “you don’t want six creams bro. Try two. Two is good.”
“Instead, I paid, got my coffee and made it to Venice Beach.
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