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Cup of Joe

Content warning - mentions of strangling, discussion of bodily injury, and minor profanity

Arledge, a non-descript, but weary-looking man, walks into a busy coffee shop, which is situated next to some mountains. Arledge wears a parka like everyone else. A line forms behind him as he speaks to the barista at the counter.

 

ARLEDGE

Um. Hi, yeah, I think I would like to order…a coffee. I mean yes, I know it’s a coffee shop.

You're…Jennifer the barista, and I’m the customer after all. It’s just there’s so many options:

Cappuccino, Macchiato, Americano…Or maybe a Long Black…no, that’s too strong and a Mocha is too sweet. I could go with a frappé or an iced coffee, but then doesn’t the ice melt

and its water just on your tongue? So, I’m just having trouble—

​    (Pause)

make an order?

Make an order?

Can’t you see I’m trying?

   (turns around)

And you man, behind me, can you wait your turn in line?

Stop clearing your throat—

Well.

Okay.

What's your name? 

   (Beat)

Jeff? Well, Jeff. 

Maybe I don’t know what I want!

What do you think?

Should I order a tea to be contrarian? Or just an espresso?

God, you and Jennifer the barista over there are just like my parents.

Never leaving me be.

Rushing, rushing, rushing me.

Is my order too little, Dad? 

   (turns to the barista)

Or not interesting enough, Mom? 

Yeah, I’m limiting myself, but maybe I didn’t want to be a backcountry ski guide, touring up mountains and breaking my back with heavy gear. Oh, and today smelling the curdled vomit of some idiot who thought playing Eye of the Tiger and sprinting up the hill would make him the next Rocky. But the only rocks he ate were shit because he was dehydrated and whose fault was that?

Mine, of course. 

   (waves to the other customers in the coffee shop)

All of you coffee-loving accountants and file clerks have no idea how lucky you are. 

It's not enough for me to just want a quiet, office job with a normal name.

Because something must be missing, I must be missing out.

It was FOMO forced onto me by my own parents  

because it wasn’t enough simply sleep at the end of the day, 

I had to have dreams 

and when I didn’t, 

My free spirit, hippy-dippy, non-conformist

Mom and Dad decided for me.

   (gestures wildly)

I had to be called Arledge

—What kind of name is that?—

and I had to be interesting, 

had to be part of band, glee club, and the choir,

had to go to a “fun” college and travel abroad

had to want an adventurous job,

and I have to pretend while a ordering a grande cinnamon, double-shot espresso, risotto, no ice, blended upside-down, made counterclockwise, tangent to the nearest latitude, blood moon coffee to be happy 

and wanting all of this 

   (addresses the other customers)

as all of you get to sit here sipping your hot cocoa, staring at me, while I get frostbite nipping my ass! But what if the only thing I want is to find the Bart to my Homer because right about now I could strangle someone. Oh, then I would need therapy, but only the best! Paid for by my parents because they’re oh so worried. 

Aren’t they always worried? 

Did you know, Jeff, they call me every single day? With their singsong voices chirping in my ear?

   (Arledge puts on a voice)

“Hi Arledge, snookums, sweetie bear, tweety bird, it’s Mom and Dad. We’re just checking in. Did you have a good day? Did you rescue a kid who ran into a tree again? That was fun!”

Yeah, that was fun alright. 

That kid nearly snapped all his damn bones when he decided to go off trail skiing. Two hours of searching, and I thought the mountain was gonna come down before I found the kid. He was lucky he ended up in a cast and not crushed under an avalanche.

I was hailed as a hero and my parents have never let it go.  

Hearing that, they’re always happy, but it’d break their hearts to know I’m not!

   (Beat)

So, I sit there and lie every day on the phone and say it was fun that I got to be a hero.

   (Pause)

So, does anyone see that it’s not okay to just be, to want what I want…and I can’t pretend anymore because if I went there, to therapy, and the shrink looked inside, the only thing he’d see is…

  (Long pause)

me,

a regular cup of joe…

And I’m okay with that.

I don’t want to be more than that.

   (turns back to barista)

So, Jennifer, I’ll take a coffee. Black.

© 2025 by Caroline Tuccinardi. Powered and secured by Wix

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