On the corner of 7th St. and North Carolina Ave. there’s a small café. It’s unremarkable. Outside there’s a small sign. Inside there are chairs, tables, couches, and behind the counter a rotating crew of baristas.
Every day for the past 10 years, Mr. John Huxtable has gone to this café and every day, he has ordered a black coffee with room for cream. Even though all the baristas know his daily order, every day he insists on telling it to them anyways. On some occasions he insists stridently. After all, he might want something different. He’s a human being. His wants, while predictable in theory, could change. As a matter of principle, he refuses to let others circumscribe him. Mr. Huxtable orders what he wants on a given day because that’s what he wants just that day. He’s a human being.
One day, however, there was a new barista behind the counter. When Mr. Huxtable went up to her to make his order, she took one look at him and said, “I suppose you want your usual?”
Angry, but also somewhat curious, Mr. Huxtable, asked, “How do you know what my usual is? Did one of the other baristas tell you? Didn’t they also tell you I always insist on ordering anyways?” The new barista replied, “No one told me anything. I just know what you want.” Then she handed him a coffee with room for cream.
Mr. Huxtable was flabbergasted. He took his coffee, paid, and left the café.
The next day as Mr. Huxtable walked to the café, he thought to himself that perhaps this new barista was playing with him. She couldn’t actually know what he wanted. Another barista probably told her his usual order. Or perhaps she made an assumption based on some sort of system she’d devised in her years as a barista elsewhere. She might even think of herself as an expert. He’d throw her for a spin. He’d show her he wasn’t so predictable. He was a human being. He resolved in his heart as he walked through the doors of the café that he’d order something he’d never ordered before. Today he’d want a latte with vanilla syrup.
To be fair—and it was one of Mr. Huxtable’s principles to be fair—he made sure he really wanted a latte with vanilla syrup. He imagined the creaminess of the steamed milk, the richness of the aroma, and the sweetness of the first sip. He wanted a latte with vanilla syrup. He was a man of principle. He wouldn’t be circumscribed.
But as Mr. Huxtable approached the counter, the new barista smiled at him and before he even had a chance to say a word, she handed him a cup, saying, “Your latte with vanilla syrup.”
Now, Mr. Huxtable was more than flabbergasted. He was insulted. He was a human being. How could she know what he wanted? But he said nothing. He took his latte with vanilla syrup, paid, and left the café. Outside, he took a sip. It was delicious. It was exactly what he wanted. That was lucky, he thought, she couldn’t do that again.
Yet, over the next three days, Mr. Huxtable was proved wrong three times in a row. On the first day he walked in wanting a macchiato, on the second day, an iced coffee with almond milk, and on the third, chamomile tea. And each day, the new barista had given him just what he wanted before he could ask for it.
The situation was intolerable to Mr. Huxtable. His wants couldn’t be predicted. How dare she circumscribe his humanity beverage after beverage? He wouldn’t let himself be played with. No, not he—a man of principle. He concocted a very clever plan. He’d go into the café not wanting anything at all. After all, people are wont every now and then to rest their palates. And the barista would be bound to fail. She’d surely give him something and whatever she’d give him would be different than what he wanted.
So, the next day, Mr. Huxtable walked into the café with a big smile on his face. But when he got to the counter, the new barista wasn’t there and when he asked around to see if she was perhaps in the kitchen, another barista told him she’d taken the day off. He stormed out of the café empty-handed.
Never in his life as a café-goer, had Mr. Huxtable been so upset. He was humiliated. Outside, below the little sign of the café, he stomped his feet, clenched his fists, and swore under his breath. It was a spectacle.
As it happened, however, across the street the new barista was passing with a friend who’d caught sight of the upset Mr. Huxtable. “I wonder why that man is so upset,” she said. “I don’t know,” replied the new barista, “He has exactly what he wants.”
—Follow Michael Shindler on Twitter: @MichaelShindler