I enjoyed a quiet victory this week, and I hesitate to share it for fear of gloating, but I trust that you share every opinion I have and that therefore you will be too happy alongside my happiness to think my victory lap uncouth.
The coffee shop I dislike is being replaced with biscuits.
Not just biscuits, of course. Gravy as well. Presumably some eggs, too, and bacon and cheese and hopefully chicken. A bacon–egg–cheese biscuit is the anthem of the common man. A chicken–egg–cheese biscuit is the feast of a king.
I don’t know with certainty that the biscuitry is coming. All I know for sure is the coffee shop is leaving. You see, it happened like this: I walked into the coffee shop to buy myself a coffee, knowingly pocketing my telephone as I did so because the coffee shop has notoriously poor reception and I would be needlessly frustrated if I continued to try to follow the Oakland Athletics game while waiting in line behind three furious children and their cackling older brother. As I gazed blankly at the wall, I heard the barista say, “Yeah, biscuits and gravy. Probably other stuff too? I don’t know how you’d just run a restaurant on biscuits and gravy.”
Naïve, pessimistic barista.
You could run a restaurant on far less than biscuits and gravy.
You could run a restaurant on biscuits alone!
BYOB.
Bring your own butter.
When I reached the front of the line, having eyed the sign that said “Our kitchen is closed and we are moving” as the charmingly demonic child in a Dak Prescott jersey gently poked the belly of his wailing next of kin, I innocently asked the barista whether the shop was indeed shutting down. I hoped he’d volunteer the biscuit part, but alas, he did not. He confirmed the news, telling me their locations would remain open on the LGBT street (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and up in Dallas (there’s something a little wrong with that). I expressed my sympathy, leaving unsaid that I assumed this poor nice man who worked at the coffee shop I dislike was about to lose his job. I left him a friendly tip, a whole dollar on a single cup of coffee to fuel him through his unemployment ahead. Then, I exited the coffee shop, and before I sipped my scalding coffee under the scalding Texas sun, and before I checked the score of the Oakland Athletics game I’d been following on my telephone before entering the coffee shop which I dislike, I texted the person I love most in this world.
(The coffee shop I dislike)’s closing!
And it sounds like a biscuit place might be moving in!
I win!!!!!!!!!!
Am I sorry for that barista? Yes. He seems like a mensch.
Am I sorry that the only coffee shop left in the neighborhood is actually a beer room that realized it could open earlier if it sold coffee and bagels? Not at all. That place rules, and I only didn’t stop there for my coffee because they’re sometimes out of drip coffee in the afternoons (having pivoted fully at that point to the beer). Am I sorry for gloating? Honestly, no. You see, that coffee shop I disliked was mildly overpriced, and the food was lacking, and the wifi cut out on me once and another time a piece of the table stuck to my laptop and I couldn’t tell if it was table or someone else’s food waste.
A biscuitry…
The possibilities.
I will observe the remodel with glee.
