After he falls asleep while bagging groceries, David decides he might need to increase his caffeine intake if he wants to keep his job. Fortunately, he had spotted a little coffee shop nearby that he can visit on his break. It's deserted the first time he walks in. Apparently the inhabitants of Schitt's Creek don't need caffeine to maintain their boundless, inexplicable enthusiasm.
"Hello?" he says, walking up to the counter.
"Hi," says a man emerging from a back room with a smile, "Oh, hey you work at the supermarket right? Thanks for bagging my pint of ice cream and jelly snakes without judgement."
"That was probably because I was half-asleep but uh, you're welcome."
"What can I get for you?"
On autopilot, David recites the order he used to get from Carmensita's Café - a caramel macchiato, skim, 2 sweeteners with a sprinkle of cocoa.
The barista's work-smile becomes bemused and slightly disbelieving. "…I can make you a sugary latte with some instant coffee powder on top?"
How the mighty have fallen.
"…Sure, thanks."
"And would you prefer your latte art in the realist or surrealist style?"
David met that with a dignified silence and a pointed Look.
"Just kidding," the barista continued, unperturbed, "I can tell you're not much of a realist."
He picks up a marker and scribbles on David's cup, "there's your latte art."
David reads Ceci n'est pas un café.
"Huh. Feels a little derivative."
"Well my resources are limited and my training is non-existent."
"As an artist or barista?," David asks, holding his lukewarm coffee.
"Uh, both?"
"You're a real brand ambassador."
"Well, making people's absurdly specific coffee orders for 7 hours a day has always been my dream, so, you know, I do my best."
"Ah, well, thank you for deigning to fulfil my absurdly specific coffee order. It must be difficult when you're so wildly busy," David says, gesturing to the empty shop on his way out.
He's met with a grin. "You're welcome. See you tomorrow."
Pretty presumptuous to assume he was going to come back after that.
"Hey," says the barista when David shows up the next day, "you were the espresso shot, right?"
"Haha. No I was the –"
"Sugary flat white. On its way."
Artist's block?" David asks when he's handed a blank coffee cup.
"It's a piece on consumerism. Like a Campbell's soup can, but cheaper and better tasting."
"Maybe you should've been my thesis supervisor."
"You were an art major? And now you're bagging groceries? That can't be right."
"Being patronising about arts degrees while you serve people coffee? Let me guess, you did Business Studies."
"Got it in one. I mean in a technical sense, I did end up working for a business, so I guess that fifteen thousand dollar debt was totally worth it."
"Clearly it also gave you a penchant for button-down business shirts and mid-range denim."
"That was actually a high school development. Resulted in a lot of parents asking me which kid was mine."
David snorted, trying to pass it off as a cough.
The barista grinned at him.
"What, you never got mistaken for a quirky substitute teacher? Or did everyone at your school wear high-end fringed sweaters?"
"No, not everyone had my taste. But I was intensely baby-faced for about 25 years of my life so getting mistaken for a responsible adult was not on the cards."
David realises too late that he's not only shared something intensely embarrassing but also openly admitted to being over 25. He searches for anything to change the subject.
"You know normally artists sign their work, right?" he says, holding up the coffee cup.
"Right, but generally baristas put their customer's name on the cup."
"Are you worried that I'm going to get confused and start calling you David? Because I think I'm gonna be ok."
Patrick smiles. "Well I think we should both get credit for this one. Your sweater collection was truly inspirational," he says, writing "Patrick & David" in neat, compact handwriting on the cup.
Patrick & David.
David feels a familiar clutch of wanting. That never ends well.
"I should go. My break's almost over," he lies.
"See you tomorrow David."
"See you tomorrow Patrick."
This job requires way too much caffeine for him to stay away for long. He's back the next day.
"Hey," Patrick says, smiling at him, "same deeply unhealthy order?"
"Yes please."
Patrick gets out the marker and starts scribbling on the cup.
"Am I getting more latte art?"
"Mmhm. It's a collection of digits representing the random, chance-driven nature of our existence. It's also my number."
"Huh," says David, smiling, "maybe we could go out for coffee?"
"Or we could do literally anything else."
"But this town has such a wide selection of artisan coffee."
"How about we compromise and try the Café Tropical? They have a drink called the Sugar Explosion that sounds perfect for you. Although you may have to order it off the kid's menu."
"Ok, well that's never been a problem for me, so…Café Tropical it is. How does 8 sound?"
"See you then David," Patrick says with a soft smile.
"See you then Patrick."
David thinks that this town may not be entirely cursed after all.