Work Text:
You have walked past the Exchange Cafe several times. It’s a cute cafe, a bit on the small side, and seems to attract a host of regular patrons as well as unsuspecting newbie passersby. Normal cafe rules do not apply there. Going in seems a lot more elaborate than just walking through the door, although some people do exactly just that. Their schedule is strict and at first you never seem to pass by at the right time to go in.
It’s all very curious, but also befuddling. So you do what needs to be done: you lurk.
You set up shop in the alley behind the cafe, where all the conversations happen. You listen to cafe patrons discuss their orders, the coffee they got, how it was perfectly tailored to their surprisingly specific and complicated guidelines. Some patrons talk about getting a venti latte when they paid for a tall. You hear gushing about scones with self-spreading jam, and tarts of a yonic shape. Worryingly, you hear someone complain about the jar of pickles they were once served, although they go on to say how that was hastily swapped by their correct order of chocolate chip cookies by a waitress.
After a while, you’re as ready as you can be to try out the cafe. You are very wrong.
When you get to the door, there’s a really excitable woman with a menu board. Her name tag reads Nominations. She hands the board to you, together with a marker.
“Please feel free to add anything you want that is not on the menu yet!”
You squint trying to make out the tiny writing on the board. The list of items is so long, you feel quite overwhelmed. You skip to the tea section, since you will likely end up getting a cup of green tea, and that is of a more manageable length. There’s assam, darjeeling, Earl Gray. White tea, four herbals. There are also seventeen varieties of green tea written down, all in different handwriting.
You give Nominations back the marker. You don’t need to add any items to the menu after all. It’s quite bloated as it is.
You go in. That wasn’t so hard! On the counter you spot a letterbox instead of a tip jar. You heard about this during your lurking, so you head over to the small table set up near it, and grab pen and paper. You don’t really know what to write, other than: Thanks for the tea, I’m sure it will be delicious! And: Treats welcome! You’re not sure why this last one is necessary, but treats are indeed always welcome in your book and you’ve gathered that the baristas like reading this.
Two women join you at the table. They’re holding hands. One starts writing a letter, but you notice the other one just looks over her shoulder and doesn’t write anything herself.
“Oh, I started writing mine last week!” She says, when she catches you sneaking glances. “That way I don’t have to rush this part and I can relax when I order from Sign-Ups.”
She takes an envelope from her bag and pushes it through the mail slot. It takes a few tries; it’s thick enough it barely fits through the opening.
You push your letter in after hers. Before you leave to join the queue, you catch a glimpse of the letter the other woman is writing. The last sentence reads: I do not want cinnamon in my macchiato, people who like that have something wrong with their taste buds and should get them checked. Her friend of the thick letter grabs a pen and crosses out everything after the last comma. “Less antagonizing,” she says.
When it’s your turn at the counter you order a cup of sencha and a slice of lemon poppy seed cake, of which you expect to be served only one, which makes total sense in a coffee shop context. You pay with baked goods, since they operate on a bartering system. Sign-Ups, or so their name tag says, rings you up and signals to another person behind the counter. “Creation Period will make your order! You can sit at a table to wait now. Your order will be with you in a maximum of 10 minutes.”
You pick a seat with a good view of the counter so that you can see the baristas at work. This place is still such a curiosity to you. Creation Period doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. They put the kettle on, and then sit back and crack a book open. That’s fair, you think. Watched kettle never boils and all. You’re pretty sure the water has boiled, after a certain point, and yet Creation Period continues to be engrossed in their book. 9 minutes after you sat down, they place a bookmark between two pages, and look up.
You’ve never seen anyone look so harried. Where before they were laid back and patient, now they ressemble a hurricane in human form. They bang open all the cupboards, take out ten different tins of tea, put them all back into the cupboards in a different order, finally locate the one they were looking for in a different cupboard, and only then realize that they don’t have a mug. It’s so stressful to watch that you look away.
Instead, you look at the big clock hanging on the wall. There’s a sign above it with a message in red capital letters: ALL TIMES ARE IN UTC. You quickly search on your phone what that’s in your time zone, and spend a few seconds subtracting in base twelve until you realize you only care about the minutes.
There are 10 seconds left to the deadline Sign-Ups told you about. You watch the seconds hand tick down. Two seconds before the deadline, a waiter comes over with a tray and places it before you. The contents are covered with a silver cloche. The waiter looks at the clock meaningfully, and after an awkward few seconds where they stand there with their hand on the cloche and not making eye contact, they lift it up and say, “Enjoy!”
On the tray, there is a blue teapot with delicate white detail and a matching cup. You lift the lid of the teapot to smell the tea inside while it steeps and it’s so enticing you put the lid back on again immediately so the fragrance doesn’t escape. There are also two mismatched dishes in the tray; one has a perfectly cut slice of lemon poppyseed cake, and the other a cupcake with yellow frosting that you assume is the same flavor. You got two cakes!
You try to thank Reveals, but the sounds coming out of your mouth resemble more a keysmash than words. You decide then to just squee and hope that the sentiment is transmitted to them.
It takes a few moments more for you to collect yourself enough so that you can start on your meal, but finally, you are. And it is time to dig in!