It was a cloudy monday morning when my keeper, widely known as Rick Moranis, had pulled into a quaint shopping square for what at first seemed to be a simple morning coffee run.
Being a relatively small man (eight and a half centimeters if you will) of relatively small standards, I fashioned myself in my freshly ironed Mr.Toad attire. After all, it only makes sense that a miniscule part of the big man's routine would be a figuratively huge occasion to one of my size and status.
But not all tiny men can aspire to such great things. As my eagerness manifested, it was already betrayed as my keeper had pinched me by the collar of my tailcoat and carelessly dropped me in his full-human sized sixteen ounce mug.
Already I could sense my doom approaching as each massive footstep rocked my thermal imprisonment back and forth. Any effort to escape was futile.
Suddenly a stop, followed by what sounded like a massive hydraulic door.
As the footsteps returned to their routine accompanied by that dreadful swaying, the warmth and smell of a café almost lifted me out of my dejection.
But I could not be fooled so easily. Death was immanent.
Then another stop. I would finally learn the malevolence of Rick's plot.
"A grande pike in a personal cup." he requested. "Don't empty the mug."
Words cannot describe the horror that made my entire body tremble.
As my imprisonment was moved from my keeper's grasp to the hand of an oblivious barista, I looked up, back against the rounded wall, to see the nozzle of a coffee urn.
Then the dreaded black liquid came crashing down, an infernal cascade. As it quickly made its way to my torso and my buoyancy carried me to the brim, I couldn't help but internally exclaim "Not as hot as expected."
I then saw the environment outside my former cylindrical prison. The expression on the barista's bearded face had told me he had either never seen a man of my size before or he was shocked at such an unusual method of homocide.
I was then free to climb out of the mug and hop onto the counter facing the infinitely confused barista. I patted myself down and turned around. To my surprise, Rick was gone and would never be seen or heard from again. But who could question his sudden flight? He had just attempted murder.
I thought it wise not to waste time in my new environment. After all, it was a splendid atmosphere and why not take advantage? Luckily I always carry my trusty twelve ounce (tiny man sized of course) ceramic mug for any spontaneous cup of java.
This establishment would find itself lucky to receive my usual order. "I'll have a tall doppio long extra dry cappuccino with whole milk." No response from my troubled barista. "In this mug of course." said I to him hoping it would clear up a fraction of confusion he possessed.
Maintaining his excellent customer service, he cautiously picked up my glass to hand over to the bartender. With confidence to my surprise, he exclaimed, "Tiny cup on bar!"
With my hereditary nimbleness, I quickly made my way to the stage-right espresso bar to observe my beverage's construction.
I would perch atop the bar, my legs crossed over the edge with my finest pair of opera glasses observing the bartender's every move.
He would make my beverage confidently while taking small confused (or concerned; I couldn't tell) glances at me pushing his thick-framed glasses back up the bridge of his freckled nose each time he attended to my drink.
At last he was finished. He slowly announced "I have a... tall..? doppio long extra dry cappuccino with whole milk. Thank you!"
Excited, I took a slow sip following proper coffee tasting protocol. "A tad wet," I critiqued, "but a fine beverage nonetheless."
I smiled and went on my way a satisfied customer. I will return. read more