How A
Black African Orders Black Coffee
(To
Barack Hussein Obama)
To find out exactly how tolerated I am in this society,
I went to a coffee bar, walked up to the counter
And said to
the bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
Without
hesitating, the bar-tender immediately served me a Caffè Mocha with cream...
“Wrong!” I
said to the bar-tender,
“Surely you
can see I’m darker than a Caffè Mocha with cream!”
“Yes, I can
see that,” the bar-tender replied, “but I didn’t want to take the chance
Of serving
you something too dark or too light in case you might feel offended...”
“Aha,” I said, paid for the coffee and left without drinking it.
At coffee bar no. 2, I walked up to the
counter
And said to
the bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
“What? Do you think we’re racists or something?” the bar-tender exclaimed,
“Here were
serve blacks and whites and yellows and reds and greens!
Don’t mess
me about! I’m a bar-tender on a minimum wage. Don’t mess me about.”
The
bar-tender served me a Caffè Latte,
As if by
serving me a light type of coffee
He was
making doubly sure of avoiding all controversy.
I paid for the coffee, and left without drinking it..
At coffee bar no. 3, I walked up to the counter
And said to
the bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
“That was a weird way of or-dering co-ffee...”
The Swedish
bar-tender replied,
“But an
A-meri-cano should just about do it.”
He served
me a double Americano, looked down into the cup and said:
“Devil
also, it’s too black. It’s the co-ffee machine’s fault, not mine!”
Shirking
responsibility, I thought, it’s as if he was trying to say:
“It’s the
coffee machine that’s a racist, not me!”
I paid for the coffee, drank it and left.
At coffee bar no. 4, I walked up to the counter
And said to the female bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
“That would be an Espresso or a filter coffee,” the bar-tender replied
And served
me an Espresso.
“It’s too
light! Are you colour-blind or something?”
“But I
can’t make an Espresso any darker!” the bar-tender replied,
“It’s impossible to make it any darker!” she stated,
As if I was
holding a knife to her neck.
As if I had
a blackness
No coffee
machine in the world could emulate.
I paid for the coffee, drank it and left.
At coffee bar no. 5, I walked up to the counter
And said to
the bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
“But all coffees are brown!” the bar-tender exclaimed,
“Yes, but
some are browner than others and some lighter,” I added,
“OK, I’ll
get you a double Espresso!” he said and served a double Espresso
Which both
of us could see was too light.
“But does
it matter what colour the coffee is?” the bar-tender asked me
And added
with a strong American accent:
“Your skin-color don’t make no difference to me!”
“I just
happen to think that coffee that matches the colour of my skin tastes better!”
I replied
with the certainty that the customer is always right.
The
bar-tender turned round quickly and went back to his work,
I paid for the coffee, drank it and left.
At coffee bar no. 6, I walked up to the counter
And said to
the bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
“Well really, that sort of humour is so incorrect
That I
don’t know how to answer it!”
The
possibly gay bar-tender said, with a flick of the wrist,
“But since
you’re such a handsome brute, I’ll get you a single Americano.
No, wait,
since you’re in such great shape, I’ll get you a double Americano.”
I took a
single Americano, and goddammit it matched the colour of my skin perfectly.
I paid for
the coffee, drank it and left.
As I was
going out the door, the bar-tender said:
“You’re the
first person to have ordered coffee like that,
Next time I’ll have a better answer.”
At coffee bar no. 7, I walked up to the counter
And said to
the bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
“Then I’ll get you a pot of coffee with a dash of milk.
I don’t
dare take too much milk, just a little milk…”
The
bar-tender replied with a smile.
The pot of
coffee plus a dash of milk was too light.
“I must try
that the next time I go out to a café
Just show
them my hand when I order coffee!”
The
bar-tender said, “If you tried that,” I replied, “you’d be served a glass of
milk!”
“Yes, I’d
probably get a glass of milk. Or a glass of water. I’m transparent.”
The
bar-tender replied and his back sagged suddenly.
I paid for the coffee, drank it and left.
At coffee bar no. 8, I walked up to the counter
And said to
the bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
The bar-tender smiled and asked another bar-tender to deal with my
order.
“Just give
him an Espresso!” the west-country bar-tender shouted,
On his way
out for a break and a fag.
But that
didn’t work at all, for the other bar-tender was from north Norway
And wanted
for some reason or other to give me extra service:
“How’s aboot
a drap o’ something in your coffee? How’s aboot a wee dram in your coffee?”
The north
Norwegian bar-tender replied,
“Sure!” I
agreed, and was served a Coffee Jamaica with rum.
“A bit too
light. Should ha’ takken a wee bit less milk,
But then it
wudna ha’ tasted as good!” the bar-tender concluded.
As I was
about to pay, the bar-tender said:
“Ye dinna
ha’ to pay for the coffee, just pay me for the dram.”
I paid for the gourmet coffee, drank it and left.
At coffee bar no. 9, I walked up to the counter
And said to
the female bar-tender:
“I’d like a
coffee, and I challenge you
To find a
coffee that matches the colour of my skin.”
“Then I’ll get you a black coffee!” the blond bar-tender said
And served
me straight black coffee, without milk or cream.
I kept
silent.
Suddenly a
twinge of bad conscience went through her.
She
stretched out her milky-white arms and exclaimed:
“But look
at me then! A
Café Au Lait for me, please!”
It was as
if she wanted to say:
“Just look
at me! I’m just as lost as you even though I’m white!”
But I still
kept silent. “You’re just having me on!” she blurted out,
“Hell, I
should have served you my most expensive coffee!”
I still
kept silent, used the strength of silence, paid and sat down at a table...
While I was
sipping liquid night, the bar-tender asked:
“What does
it say about me
that you got coffee that dark?”
I didn’t
answer her, but was struck by her self-reflection,
Struck that
she was the first person to possibly understand
That the
entire episode was in the process of changing into text.
I could
have said to her:
“You served
me coffee that black because inside your head
You
experience the colour of my skin
As a lot
darker than it actually is,
Because
inside your head you experience me as a lot more alien
Than I
actually am.”
But I still
kept silent, took out my notebook and started to write
How A Black African Orders Black Coffee.
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