Iced Coffee
I guess it's a regional thing. I mean, you can get an iced Americano at any Starbucks in the land, but requesting an iced coffee at a run-of-the-mill donut shop outside of the Northeast can get you weird looks.
I confirmed this recently with my mother-in-law, who spends her winter months in Florida. She went into a local breakfast place at one point on a warm day and asked for an iced coffee.
"Iced...what?"
"Iced coffee."
"Darlin' we don't have iced coffee. We have hot coffee. I can getcha an iced tea, sweet or unsweet. But we don't have no iced coffee," said the waitron with a confused look.
A few years back on a hot July day during Macworld Expo, I mentioned to my boss and his wife that I'd like to go get an iced coffee. They're both from Nova Scotia. They looked at me like I was crazy. Neither of them had ever heard of such a thing. Apparently Tim Horton's doesn't serve its coffee iced. Only hot. Then again, their summers are only about six days long, so I guess I'm not all together surprised.
That mirrors my experience flying through Chicago's O'Hare airport. At one of the terminals there's a Dunkin' Donuts kiosk. Dunkin' Donuts. Purveyors of coffee, iced or hot, throughout New England. I ordered a medium iced coffee, milk, dark, no sugar.
"You want a ... what?" the girl asked.
"Iced coffee."
"We don't have iced coffee," she said, casting me a baleful look and propping one arm on her hip for emphasis, long, manicured dagger-like nails curling underneath her hand like the talons of a bird of prey. "Only hot."
My flight was boarding in five minutes, and I needed a massive caffeine injection to make to San Francisco awake. I had work to do, dammit -- I wasn't going to waste that exit row seat by not using my laptop during the flight.
I noticed there was a little soda fountain in one side of the kiosk, dispensing popular soft drinks. "Do you sell soft drinks?" I asked. "Soda?"
"Yeah," she said.
"Do they have ice in them?"
"Sure."
"Well, do you think you could fill up one of those medium soft drink cups with ice, then pour some coffee over it, and maybe leave a little room at the top for milk?"
There was a long pause as she stared at me, working her disbelieving eyes from head to my feet. Apparently for this woman, my request had passed this interaction from the realm of "simple transaction" into the domain of "arcane ritual." And as is sometimes the case with simple minds, the unknown brings with it fear and doubt.
"I wouldn't even know how to ring that up on the register," she said, leaving her lips pursed after the last syllable of register just for emphasis. Daring me to make the next move. Taunting me.
And all I could think of was that scene from Five Easy Pieces when Bobby (Jack Nicholson) asks the diner waitress for toast, which he's told isn't on the menu. Eventually he haggles with her for a chicken salad sandwich on toasted bread, hold the chicken salad.
"You want me to hold the chicken, huh?" says the waitress.
"I want you to hold it between your knees," says Bobby.
"Honey, I've got to be on a plane in a few minutes and I really, really want some iced coffee. I don't care what you charge me for it, I'll pay it and I'll tip you. Just fill up the cup with ice, pour some coffee over it and put some milk on top so I don't get an ulcer," I said.
The desperation of a harried traveler who simply wants a bit of comfort before once again locking himself in a too-small space for several hours as he hurtles through the rarified air of the upper atmosphere. Something she was apparently used to. That seemed to break the logjam. I did get my iced coffee.