Eial

One glance at the name tag the barista is wearing and I have my post title for today.

Eial. 

I search around for information about the name origin.  It could a variation on the Hebrew name Eyal or it could be a name strung together from a series of vowels and one consonant at the end.  It is a popular name in the USA and also in Israel.  Or it could simply be a stuff up on the part of the person making up the name badge.

I decided against asking the wearer about his name.  He is a tall, fair, curly haired young man with a high colour, who stands behind the machine as if asleep.  He also carries the look of privilege; good looking, healthy and well fed and possibly living somewhere in the neighborhood of the coffee shop where privilege is not entirely an unknown.

As it is Sunday morning, there is a steady stream of coffee-buyers pushing through the door and the somnolent barista slowly but surely works his way down the list.  Slowly is the operative word; I have eaten my Danish pastry and stand up to ask for a take-away not sit-down coffee, only to find the waitress coming towards me coffee in hand and apologizing for the delay.

The train to take me to Hurstbridge Farmer’s Market is less than ten minutes away from arrival at the train station across the road.

I drink up and leave.