In which the author narrowly avoids a ruined leather jacket
As the barista-in-training pushed the latte toward me along that little
counter next to the espresso machine, I saw that the bottom of the cup
had started to stick against the counter. I instinctively leaned
in, intending to prop the cup and keep it from tipping over; just as I
reached the counter, I saw that not only was the cup intent on falling,
but its lid had merely been resting lightly atop it and was now floating
away on a tidal wave of steam-hot liquid. At the last possible moment, I leapt
backward to avoid the caffeinated flood, and suffered only minor latte
stains on my leather jacket. Epilogue: As I leaned down to wipe droplets of coffee from my pants, the barista said, “Oh, you don’t have to help clean the floor.” “Uh, no, just taking care of myself, thanks,” I replied.