Some mornings
are just a bit dull: inspiration is elusive, the in-tray is full of trivia and
there’s no one around to talk to. On such mornings I need to kick-start the day
so I shun the desk, get washed and brushed-up, step briskly out of the front
door and go in search of coffee. The only problem is that, within five minutes
walk of my front door, there are least (without counting properly) 25 coffee
bars to choose from so, as the door closes behind me, I become embroiled in a
decision-making process fraught with unwanted anxiety.
The process
is a struggle between logic and emotion. How do I choose the optimum venue to
get the feel-good factor I crave? Should I go to one of the bustling coffee
bars on the main road, where I could, by association, catch a little energy?
Would I prefer somewhere quieter on a side-street where I might study the paper,
undisturbed by hubbub? But then, busy or quiet, which of those slick, themed
chain establishments - Italian, Spanish, American or South-American - should it
be? Then, just as I’m making progress, conscience
intervenes to remind me I should support the newly-established, worthy-but-cheesy,
fair-trade independent. By contrast- and for proper, old-fashioned service- how
about that posh hotel lounge with (if the weather’s fine) its south-facing
patio? But how decadent is that? Surely I should make better use of my time and
go to the one in the bookshop where I could browse; or maybe the one in the art
gallery where I could get cultured? Then again I’m tempted by the fashionable
bar where the seats are comfortable and cast a glance over at the local deli
where they are not. Perhaps I should narrow the choice by deciding which type
of coffee I fancy: medium-roasted in a cafetiere or dark-roasted espresso?
It’s now
getting on for lunchtime so I take the lazy way out of my dilemma and decide to
deploy one of my loyalty cards – the one with the most stamps on it. I know
they didn’t invent loyalty cards just to help indecisive people like me; they
are really a nifty device to keep us overpaying for cups of coffee in anticipation
of the eventual accumulation of sufficient points to get a ‘free’ one (in which
case they should rightly be called Bribery Cards). But my problem is solved and
that coffee does taste so much better for being free of charge.
Nevertheless,
I feel pathetic about my reliance on the loyalty card and begin to reflect on the
subtle, insinuating danger they embody: their pernicious effect is to encourage
habitual behaviour - and I don’t need much encouragement for that. Not only is
my wallet is stuffed with cards but they have also spilled out and infiltrated
my head in such a way that I have acquired quite a few ‘virtual’ loyalty cards of
my own. I have one for French wine, one for English ale and one for a certain
style of jazz to name but three. In fact my virtual loyalty cards, rather like
my plastic ones, have accumulated, unnoticed, to a tipping point: that at which
they define my lifestyle by excluding the possibilities of novel experiences.
So, enough
of this timid, repetitive, self-assuring behaviour; next time the morning is a
bit dull I intend to set out on a (sort-of) systematic attempt to take coffee
in every one of the venues that qualifies as within five minutes walk. The
resulting experiences will be laboriously turned into a novel and published under
the title ‘Sod the Loyalty Card’.
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