They’re little, unsavory wagons selling donuts, hard rolls (and I mean hard) and the worst coffee on the planet.
Their only redeeming feature is the low cost…no overhead to speak of, so they can get away with charging .80 for a cup of muddy, murky, tinted water posing as coffee. A firm believer in, you get what you pay for including dysentery, I don’t EVER buy from the cart.
But here’s my problem.
In the morning there’s no one around but me and the cartman, saying hello to each other…good morning, how are you.
I notice his business isn’t exactly thriving my guess being, his coffee is even worse than the other cart guy’s two blocks up. I can just tell by looking at him. He smokes, never wears gloves when you’re supposed to. His shirt has stains all over it to the point it looks tie-dyed. Then you have Starbucks, Tag Bagels and a Dunkin Donuts in his general vicinity so competition is fierce. To be honest, coffee in a passing thermos would give him a run for his .80.
Last Wednesday, when I was coming back from Starbucks he stops me.
“Hullo, you are having a nice morning so far?” It was only 6:05 so it wasn’t much of a morning yet, but answered yes, just the same.
“I want you to taste my coffee…the best coffee in town.”
“Oh, I just had two cups, that’s my limit,” I said, figuring that was that.
“Tomorrow you come try.”
“You know sir…”
“No sir, I’m Mohammed.”
“You see Mohammed…”
“Mo, my friends call me Mo.”
“Mo…I never have cash which is why I go to Starbucks. They take Visa.”
“So you open a charge…pay Fridays. I trust you.” Omigod…how am I going to get out of this without hurting his feelings. One, I cannot even think of drinking his coffee without gagging…and opening a charge? Explain that to Sam my accountant.
I thank him and say I’ll see him soon, but now I can’t go to that Starbucks anymore if I don’t want to run into him.
For three days I’ve waited for the later one to open, not something I want to do.
I like to go at 5, be out by 5;50…a quick stop to see Rosie the cat before heading home to run. The extra half hour is costing me, plus this particular Starbucks is so cold you could hang meat in the entrance way.
So today I walked all the way around via Third Avenue so I didn’t have to see him, and feel terrible about it.
12 Step says, no is a complete sentence, but I can’t help feeling sad no one buys his coffee. Occasionally a cabbie will stop because he serves them like a carhop, right at their window, but guaranteed, that driver ain’t stoppin again.
I know it’s silly to care about a man with such a dirty shirt, but I can’t help it.
Maybe I need to go purchase a donut or hard roll I could always use as a paperweight, just to clear the air.
I’ll lie and tell him I’ve given up coffee hoping my nose, as I fib, doesn’t get any bigger.
Don’t you wish everything got bigger when you lied?