I may be beating a dead horse here, but I am going to make fun of hipsters, like everyone else does on the internet.
Finals were approaching and I had no other late night, coffee-serving, internet-providing venue but the token hipster coffee shop that is somehow conveniently located down every road.
When I walk in, gay flags loudly wave just to make sure you know how they feel on the topic, as if you didn’t know to begin with. I look to my left – there’s some sort of community group meeting at the long table in the middle of the room and it is 11pm. But with a hipster’s wake up time being 2pm, I quickly reason out of the absurdity.
I find a place to settle – the hundred year old couch, uncomfortably positioned in some nook. Classic. I begin pulling out my laptop and am instantly shamed. I own a 142” Toshiba PC that my friends call my flat screen TV. Everyone around me is tapping on a perfectly proportioned MacBook Pro. I soon become less shamed as I realize I’m actually the most original. So what I am saying is, just don’t be surprised if you see a PC movement occurring amongst the hispster community after you read this.
I go to order my drink. I had no idea what I was in for. At the counter was a five-foot-nothing barista with skinny jeans, a teeny tank top, and no bra. I could handle that, but then I noticed one side of her head was shaved and the other half was dreaded and all came together into what I think was a braid. Okay, I thought. Haven’t quite seen that but still, I get it.
“Would it be possible to get a half-caf cup of coffee?” I ask.
She follows hipster suit and takes about a split second longer than all other human beings and responds, “What do you mean?” The response would have taken me off guard if her voice hadn’t first. It was some sort of cross between Snow White and Miss Piggy. I couldn’t help but wonder how long it took to perfect that one.
“Hmmm.” I say, “Do you think you could make me an Americano with a caffeinated shot of espresso and a decaffeinated shot of espresso?” I ask. She pauses and then looks up as though she is consulting the fairy that lives in her hair. Eventually she complies with an unwarranted attitude as if she doesn’t get paid to do what I asked her to.
It takes five minutes, but I get my Americano and begin looking for cream. Spinning in circles, there’s nothing and she has already disappeared through some curtain made of beads. So I wait some more. I find someone who looks like they work there a little bit more than everyone else, because at those places, you can never really tell. Phew, she does. She helps me and quietly disappears as well.
Shoot! There’s no room for cream and no place to pour it out. I begin spinning again. No one. Nothing. A man comes by, “Do you need somewhere to pour out some of your coffee?”
“Yes!” I enthusiastically reply.
“Come with me.” He demands in a whisper.
I instantly take on a hunched over posture, stepping lightly, anticipating “danger” or “adventure” at any turn.
“Where are we going?” I whisper back as we exit the building.
“Just right around the corner here.” He responds, keeping me very intrigued. “There, you can pour it right there.” He points to a planter. “Don’t worry, those plants won’t be harmed.” He affirms.
“Are you sure?” I poke.
“Yes, I do it every day.” He gently responds.
“Okay, thank you so much.” I declare, yet keep at a whisper out of sincerest of hipster reverence. And then he quietly disappears.
Check it out for yourself - Stardust Coffee on E. Winter Park Road, between Marble Avenue and Corrine Drive.
All that to say, like a poser, I did show up wearing my glasses from Urban Outfitters lacking any form of prescription, so I can’t really make too much fun, now can I?
Besides going to church every Sunday, the only other time this hipster moment has been rivaled was when I somehow found myself at a Saturday night dance club called Midnight Mass. Hipsters sling their PBR in the air, and sway their bodies in new and exciting and uncomfortable ways.