My Americano comes to $700.
“Whoa,” the barista says. “That’s too much – obvi. I was thinking about something else.”
“No problem. What were you thinking about?”
“This song that’s playing, it sounds like the opening to the most recent Fallout.”
We both pause to listen to the music – a melancholy jazz tune.
“For a minute I was in the game,” she says. “I swear sometimes I look around the real world and I can see it being all post apocalyptic. Like a premonition.”
“Am I still able to get coffee in the post apocalyptic future? And if so, will it cost $700?”
“I think it’ll be kind of a barter system with Wild West rules,” she says.
“So no rules.”
“Basically. You need to team up, bring a skill to the table, you know?”
“I have a plan,” I tell her. “I’ve thought a lot about what skills I can bring to the post apocalyptic future and it comes down to this – cult leader.”
“Oh yes. I’ve got lots of stories, and with a bushy beard and crazy hair I think I can really sell the cult leader thing. Plus, I’ll probably lose my glasses pretty early on in the post apocalyptic future, so I’ll have the mystique of a half-blind spiritual leader.”
“Wow, you have thought about this. I can totally see it. But is it going to be one of those crazy fanatic death cults?”
“Oh no. I’m preaching the golden rule. And mostly we’re about food, shelter, and stockpiling toilet paper.”
“Well, if the shit hits the fan, your cult will have a barista.”
We shake on it.