I was early, the light traffic helping me make good time, so I pulled into a Starbucks. I used to frequent this Starbucks when I lived in Oakville. That was before these blocks of strip malls and storefronts were dropped here. There's an enormous grocery store, an oversized pet place, Canadian Tire, various food joints, a Quizno's, a wrap place, and a bank. They're all lumped together in six different blocks of concrete and neon.

It's just after six o'clock and we don't play until 7:30. I hunt down today's sports section in the newspaper holder. The new NFL season started yesterday and the Bill's won handily.

I order an Americano which I prefer since they're brewed fresh each time. It's a few shots of espresso topped up with hot water. I pay up and the closely cropped boy in green walks over to a steel box, holds a mug under a spout and presses a button. Cripes, they don't even make the espresso shots any more?

There's no heavy thumping as they clean out the grinds from the previous espresso. The plastic swish as they pull the lever on the grinds dispenser, place two shot glasses under the spouts and scream steaming water through the fresh grinds. Instead he pushed a button. He's operating a push button coffee/chicken soup dispenser on my behalf. Why are they bothering with staff at all? Am I not qualified to push buttons?

"Not as much banging anymore?"

"What's that?"

"I say there's not as much banging with that thing. You don't have to make them anymore."

"Ya, it's great....well it's great for us" obviously aware that some people aren't fans of the new espresso dispenser.

There's no art to it, no aggression, no battle, no risk of burns from the steaming hot water. A few years back, a friend received significant burns from an old school espresso behemoth. It was unfortunate she was hurt but that's making coffee. This push button operation is less challenging then getting a glass of tap water.

"Ya it's good for you but not for us" comes a voice of clarity from over my shoulder. A small man topped with brown hair retreating to the back of his scalp appears from the bathroom. He's clearly more pissed off than me.

"You guys talking about those new machines?" he says, gesturing towards the shinny box. The clerk does his best impression of a Marcel Marceau extra by not hearing.

"They're good but not as good. It's bad for us, doesn't taste so good"

Where is this guy the rest of my life? I need more of this. I need more of him, we're a perfect team. I start conversations and thoughts and just as I get too scared, or stumble and stammer, he arrives out of a bathroom and picks up my line of thought. I love him, please never let him leave me.

The clerk continues his Marcel Marceau schtick once again in response. I think about asking how the chicken soup is from this dispenser but don't. My sidekick's left and the coffee tastes like shit.