Now that I’ve made my yearly switch to iced coffee, I’m falling into my usual warm weather routine: I wake up, press snooze, press snooze, press snooze, shower, towel dry, air dry, get dressed, walk to the subway, take a free newspaper from a moderately homeless gentleman, read two worthless articles about how stupid or fat New Yorkers are, go to the deli, flirt with the women at the counter, order breakfast, pay $1.50 for my bagel, and then pay 3 fucking dollars for my iced coffee.
Hot coffee costs $1. Add ice, a plastic cup, and a straw and I am seriously ripped off. Not to give them any genius ideas, but why is my bagel the same price whether it is toasted or not toasted? Charging more for a toasted bagel makes sense to me. If I order a bagel and ask for it with butter, the dude puts butter on the bagel and he hands it to me. It looks like this:
Now, if I ask for it toasted with butter, he undertakes an elaborate and highly stressful eight step process. First, he cuts the bagel. Second, he marks the bagel with some magical symbol that identifies which topping I would like placed on my bagel. Third, he enters my bagel into the toaster, using caution not to burn himself. Fourth, he closely monitors the bagel’s progress through the toaster to ensure that it does not cool from an unnecessary open-air waiting period. Fifth, he checks the quality of the bagel to evaluate whether it has reached the appropriate level of toastiness. Sixth, he unilaterally decides whether to re-toast the bagel to give it a more golden hue. Seventh, and without needing a reminder, he decodes his magical symbol and correctly places my pre-determined topping on the bagel. Finally, he perfectly dissects the bagel into two equal halves with an incredibly sharp knife, wraps it in aluminum foil, and hands it to me. It’s fucking magic what this man does in order for me to get a wonderfully perfect hot and toasty bagel with a touch of butter. For all of that extra service, I don’t pay a cent.
Once I have my bagel, I wait in line and the woman behind the counter makes me my coffee and calls me sweetie.
All winter, when I was cold as shit, she said, “Hot coffee, sweetie?” and I said, “Yes.” She then took a paper cup and gently applied pressure to a spout that poured the coffee into the paper cup. She placed a lid on the cup and handed it to me.
In the summer, when I get an iced coffee, she says “Iced Coffee, sweetie?” and I say, “Yes.” She then takes a plastic cup, scoops it with ice, and gently applies pressure to a spout that pours the coffee into the plastic cup. She places the lid on the cup and hands it to me.
Are you seriously telling me that the scooping of the ice costs a dollar? Maybe I should start drinking tea.