“Hey, can I get a hot matcha latte with oat milk, no added sugar?”
“Sorry, we’re actually out of oat milk. All of our stores are.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, when will it be back, Steve?”
“It’s actually Stan—”
“I mean, what am I supposed to do? I need caffeine. I work at McKinsey.”
“We have other milk options: soy—”
“Soy? What is this, 2002?”
“Almond—”
“You do realize that almond production endangers bees and could seriously worsen California’s drought problem.”
“Coconut—”
“May as well go have three thousand ice-cream cones, because that’d be fewer calories.”
“Skim?”
“Dairy?! So I can explode all over the bathroom? My cleaning lady isn’t coming until Thursday.”
“You mentioned the ice cream, so I just thought—”
“Obviously I meant dairy-free ice cream, Steve.”
“Why don’t I give you the matcha without milk, and you can go buy some oat milk yourself?”
“You want me to waste my time waiting in line outside of the grocery store, risk my life among potential anti-maskers inside, buy oat milk, lug it back to my apartment, heat it up on my stove, likely forget about it when I get distracted by my insanely demanding job, and then burn down my kitchen, and my apartment, and die in the fire?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Better yet, why don’t I just quit McKinsey, break my lease, move out to the middle of nowhere, buy a farm and the overalls I’ve never thought I could pull off, grow my own oats, and then make my own oat milk?!”
“O.K., sure. But there are customers behind you, so—”
“Actually, it might be nice to have some more space. New scenery. Clean air. Lower cost of living. Slower pace. I thought I was cut out for McKinsey but I can’t take it anymore, Steve. Maybe I need to be out in the world, working with my hands. Do you like working with your hands?”
“Um—”
“You’re right! I’m going to do it! I’m going to become a farmer. In the Hudson Valley. I hear it’s gorgeous. Does oat even grow there? And is it oat that you grow, or does oat come from something else? Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m just so excited! Have you summered up there? I haven’t—I’m third-generation East Hampton.”
“No, I’ve never been. Have been meaning to check it out, though.”
“Well, you’ll have to come visit me! It’ll be so much fun! Goodbye, Steve—my oat life awaits! Oh, my God—Oat Life! Perfect name for my oat-milk brand!”
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May 12, 2021 at 05:00PM
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My Coffee Shop Is Out of Oat Milk and I Am Not O.K. - The New Yorker
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