Coffee mutants. STB63

When I woke up that morning, I expected it to be an ordinary Tuesday. I’d roll out of bed, shuffle downstairs in my slippers for a strong cup of coffee, then drive to my job at the insurance office downtown. But little did I know, the day I stepped into Jensen’s Coffee House and ordered my usual medium roast with cream would set off a chain of events beyond anything I could have imagined.

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The first sign that something was amiss was when I noticed the barista staring at me. Intently. Unblinking. His eyes followed my every movement with alarming focus as I slid my credit card and grabbed a sleeve for the steaming paper cup he set on the counter. I offered a polite smile, though slightly unsettled.

“Have a nice day...” I said, trailing off leadingly when I spotted that the kid’s name tag was blank.

“Thank you!” He beamed. “You as well, valued customer.”

I nodded and turned to go add creamer to my coffee. But I could still feel the weight of his gaze on my back. Glancing over my shoulder, I caught him blatantly observing me mixing in the cream, head tilted in curiosity, before he jolted back to task when we made eye contact.

Odd, I thought. But the coffee shop was busy so I brushed it off. I had work to get to.

However, the strange encounters kept happening throughout my day. On my commute, at the office, even at lunch - people seemed to be staring at me intently everywhere I went. Studying my every mundane move while I photocopied papers or ordered food or walked down the street.

Their expressions held the same intense curiosity and fascination as that too-eager barista. I started to feel like a zoo animal being constantly watched. Needless to say, it was unsettling.

It wasn’t until I stopped at the grocery store after work that things started making sense. I was reaching for a carton of creamer - the same brand I always bought - when I noticed the shopper beside me was zeroed in on the exact motions of my hand.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked politely.

“Oh, no thank you!” The man replied cheerily. “I was just very interested in observing your selection there. Do you mind if I ask what purpose the white liquid serves?”

I blinked, certain I misheard. “I’m sorry...what? You’re asking what creamer is for?”

“Yes!” He beamed. “Does it alter the chemical composition of the coffee? Or the temperature perhaps? Does it produce any discernible enhancements to flavor, aroma, mouth-feel or other properties?”

Now it was my turn to stare blankly. “I...add it to coffee. To cream it up a bit. Sweeten it too depending how much you add I guess.”

The man’s eyes lit up in fascination. “How intriguing! A most miraculous substance indeed. Thank you kindly for explaining its charms.”

With that, he snatched up three bottles of French Vanilla creamer and scurried away, leaving me thoroughly confused. Until a few aisles later when I crossed paths with a woman gazing endlessly at a display of coffee filters.

She looked up as I passed. “Excuse me, but could you demonstrate the proper usage of these items?” She asked hopefully, holding up a filter.

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I didn't have time for another bewildering conversation. “Ask an employee to show you,” I muttered, heading for the check out line.

Waiting in line, I pulled out my phone to distract myself from side-eyes of other shoppers. As I scrolled aimlessly, a local article headline popped up that made my heart skip a beat: “Mutant Coffee-Based Lifeforms Emerging After Waste Spill at Local Farm.”

Suddenly, it all clicked into place. The farm must supply beans to Jensen’s shop. Was my barista actually...one of these mutants? Were they all somehow obsessed with coffee and those who consume it? I shuddered, goosebumps pricking my arms. This was too bizarre.

I left in a hurry, but the strangeness persisted everywhere I went over the next few weeks. “Coffee people”, as they became known when the local news picked up on the phenomenon, continued studying and questioning me about my coffee preferences, cream additions, brewing methods.

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They'd hover nearby any time I ordered at a cafe, watch through windows when I drank coffee at home, even dig through my trash to examine used grounds. Many tried befriending me to get closer to my mugs, makers, and beans.

I'll admit my patience wore thin. The once-ordinary routine of my morning brew became a spectacle for prying eyes day in and day out. I took to only drinking instant coffee tucked away in my bedroom to escape.

But despite my best efforts, I could not completely avoid them as the coffee-humans assimilated deeper into everyday life around town. Hired as baristas, opening their own coffee shops, even attending city council meetings to argue passionately for converting the park into a coffee bean farm.

Over time, the locals seemed to accept our strange new neighbors. While fellow coffee drinkers still complained about a lack of privacy, for most people the mutants' eccentricities simply became part of life's daily background noise.

Eventually I adapted too. I made casual conversations with the coffee woman always sitting enthralled as I added flavored creamer to my cup. I didn't mind when the these bizarre beings clustered around to watch my French press technique. Their relentless fascination was almost endearing in its sincerity.

Just the other day, I caught myself smiling proudly as I taught a particularly eager mutant how to froth milk for homemade cappuccinos. His wide shining eyes and exclamations of wonder over the foamy cream topping stirred an unexpected affection in me.

Perhaps this new era of coffee camaraderie is not something to dread, but to embrace. Our worlds now intertwined, we inhabitants of the quiet suburban town and these unique caffeine-filled beings. Still a bizarre reality, even years later, but somehow this lively community we share has its own charm.