Tipping at coffee shops stresses me out.
I’m always second-guessing how much I’m meant to part ways with—15%, 20%, 25%, more?
And do you tip the same for a filter coffee as you do for a cappuccino? There’s a distinct difference in effort between the two, does that alter the customary tip?
And before you even have time to process this dilemma, the cashier twirls that fancy payment screen around, showing four tipping options that bask in the glory of the moment like excited Broadway dancers.
I’ll be honest, sometimes there’s a fleeting moment when I consider not tipping. I scoff against tipping culture and consider keeping the extra 40 or 50 cents. The things I would be able to do with all that spare change, I think to myself. The sights I’d see, the places I’d go.
But no sooner have I started on that thought than I’m tapping the 20% button and looking up at the server to see if they acknowledged my generosity.
They rarely do.
Those scoundrels.
Anyway, there’s no need to die on this hill today. I need my weekend coffee because I’ve all but given up on my weekday coffee.
Yessir, I’ve gone cold turkey with the coffee. Cold as can be.
As I fold into my thirties, I’ve learned my body is starting to feel the effects of indulgent living.
Up until now, I’ve been blessed with some kind of voodoo magic where what I eat doesn’t affect my weight. People say it could be a fast metabolism but I don’t believe in such fairytales.
Whatever it is, it means I’ve never been too worried about what I eat because the weight has never followed. Lucky me.
But perhaps I’ve indulged a little too frequently because I’m starting to feel older and less spritely than usual. And there are some tell-tale signs that my boundless diet isn’t conducive to a lifestyle of good living.
The beers, whiskey, chips, ice cream, pastries, cheese, pasta, and meats—oh those beautiful, succulent meats—have turned my insides into a septic pit of despair. The acid is crawling back up my esophagus like a champion rock climber to burn the living bejesus out of me.
Making matters worse, I spend most of every day downing gallons of coffee and seltzer water. Which for the folks playing at home, aren’t great in excess on their own but together they aggravate the stomach like a Fox News headline.
Oh, and here’s the real kicker, my cholesterol is higher than the national COVID case count.
The doctor was just as surprised as I was and he called me straight after the test results came through.
“Allan, good news, you don’t have HIV,” he said.
What a relief. He wanted to test me not because I’m living life like a sex-crazed rockstar but because he said everyone should get tested once in their life. I obliged and while I knew I had nothing to worry about, waiting for those test results can ferment some strange and unwelcome second-guessing.
“But, I have to ask, what have you been eating?”
I gave him a roundabout answer that shared the cliff notes of my diet: mostly good but a little indulgent.
In response, he gave me the news that my cholesterol and triglycerides were off the chart.
Chalk up another strong performance for the Stormon bloodline, eh?
“Is this something I need to be very concerned with?” I asked.
“No, maybe not right now, but we do need to address it because it will be in 10 or 20 years. I’m going to refer you to a cardiologist.”
Well, I’ll be damned. A date with the heart doctor. The voodoo magic has finally worn off.
That’s the kind of news to shape you up real quick, and that’s why I’m clearing up my diet.
The gorgeous Philadelphia hoagie sandwiches I’ve come to love? Buh-bye.
Chocolates, sweets, and delectable desserts? Absolutely not.
Cheese, cheese, and more cheese? It pains me to say it, but no more.
Processed meats? Nada.
The nightly whiskey? Oh lord, it has to go, too.
And the coffee shop treats, like the croissants or muffins that pair so well with a cup of joe, especially as a mid-morning, or mid-afternoon bite? I guess they have to go, too.
Because that’s the kind of radical change needed to pierce through the pattern of dietary negligence.
It won’t be easy. I’m sure the carbohydrate cravings will hit me like a tsunami. They’ll buckle me in half on the cold winter nights when only a takeout meal can warm the soul. The sweet tooth will gnaw at my resolve like a petulant child.
But one must stay the course. Stoic and unmoved. Unshaken by the events unfolding around oneself. Detached from feeling and desire. Cold-faced, steel-hearted, steady and unwavering.
Kinda like the cashier at the coffee shop who I just tipped.
Well done! Such fervent determination.. I'm sure you will make it :)
Good luck with new diet Al it will be worth it 😀🥰