The day I finally understood caffeine

For twenty-seven years, I didn't rely on caffeine. I was the kind of person who spent half my summer in backcountry woods, and when I was in society, spent just two dollars a day so I could live off a part-time job. Life was easier if I didn't have to worry about where to access my next coffee. I was proud of that.

Then last summer happened.

One sunny afternoon in late June, I was struggling to finish my last half hour of work for the day. As usual, I couldn't focus. A cute café sat around the corner from my house, so I figured if I glued myself to one of their chairs for twenty minutes, maybe I'd get my last bit of work completed.

I plopped my laptop in my backpack and off I went. The café was cute, with fairy lights, bookshelves, and local artists' paintings on the walls. VIBES!!! Then I looked to my right. And froze. I had forgotten how terrifying these coffee shop menus were. What was an Americano? And was there a difference between a latte and a cappuccino? What was the drink least likely to taste like a straight-up coffee bean?

The barista smiled.

I panicked.

I looked at the summer drink specials in a picture frame to my left on the counter. Couldn't go wrong with a summer drink special.

The first item was a raspberry something. I liked raspberries. In the description underneath, it mentioned double espresso, which meant nothing to me because I knew as much about espresso as I did about the end of the universe.

"The raspberry thing, please."

The barista asked me for like a hundred dollars for my little drink. When the cup landed in my hand, my heart sank, because, by the dark, transparent look of it, it appeared to be the most bitter drink on the menu. I knew enough about coffee to know there was no hint of cream or milk in this cup.

I peeked behind me. There sat a bar with what appeared to be cream and milk. Again, my mind took off in a panic. How did I know whether to use cream or milk? Did I put any in? How much did I put in? What if the sugar shaker was actually full of salt? What if I wasn't supposed to put anything into this kind of drink at all and the barista thought I was a weirdo?

I took my naked coffee to a table in the back corner. And drank the whole thing. It tasted like rat poison but I gaslit myself into thinking I liked it since it basically emptied my wallet.

Then, I had the most productive half hour of my entire life. Whatever was in that drink... bless.

The next day I went back to the café. The same barista was there. She smiled.

"The raspberry thing, please," I said.

When she handed it to me, I pointed to the drink and told her in the most serious tone, "I don't know what you did to this thing yesterday, but that was magical fairy witchcraft."

The barista smiled as usual, but this time like I was weirdo.

I've since learned that "witchcraft" is called espresso. It helped me write an entire novel in mere weeks. I visit the café so often that they offered for me to live in a spare room in the basement of the building. I've tried all the menu items and finally know a thing or two about lattés and cold brews. Worst of all, I rely on caffeine.