Something happening in TV a lot is what I like to call the “coffee order scene”. It doesn’t always have to be a coffee order, but it normally is: an exasperated person who was born in a year when they could experience ecstasy before 1996 and buy a property before 2000 walks into a coffee shop and orders a “large coffee, black”. They look around the coffee shop like a panther is prowling after them through the woods.
The barista has a tattoo and a haircut. They will clarify that the person ordering means a “venti”. We see a palpable change in blood pressure. “Do you want any cream with that?” No cream. “Any alternative milks?” No alternative milks. “Any syrup?” They notice that the barista has pronouns printed on their name badge. “Just give me the damn coffee!” they say.
