Two tea girls work behind the counter in a nearly empty store. It is a beautiful Spring day. Who would want to be inside, drinking a hot cup of tea? Besides me. I’m here, drinking tea, thinking, writing. The tea girls are conscious of me, the sole customer sitting at a table and tapping away on a laptop. They seem to know that I'm writing about them, that maybe at this moment they are becoming characters in a story, novel, or poem. As they wipe down the counter, they laugh and whisper to each other, stealing glances to see if I’m watching. One of them laughs as she wipes the counter, “Here’s me cleaning. I wonder if I’ll become a Grecian maid wiping down the sculptures in a garden.” How self-conscious they must feel, like at a family gathering when somebody pulls out a video recorder. Or is it fun? I wouldn’t know. I’m usually on this side of the keyboard, this side of the camera, of the action, of the friends and family and lovers. I don’t like to be the subject of anything.
Steam rises from the pots of water, creating clouds of mist that they have to swim through. Oh come on; this begs to be captured in art, in poetry, but I’ll resist. I have never been good at poetry anyway. I am here to think about my next short story, the Tea House. Research, so to speak. What are the questions customers ask? What kind of people wander in off the sidewalk without a clue of what they want, while others march in with an order scribbled on lined notepaper? I’ve brought along my writing tools; post-it pads and bright yellow file folders to storyboard the characters and conflicts, jot down the many blends of tea that can be entwined into subplots as metaphors. How much can you tell about a character by the kind of tea they drink?
Most customers have no clue what they are looking for, other than a specific something or other that they can’t seem to describe without sweeping generalizations. “I had this great cup of tea at a restaurant once, you know, a Chinese restaurant, or was it Mongolian? something sweet? kind of flowery? or grassy? with a kind of astringent aftertaste?”
Somehow the tea girls divine what they are looking for, or make something up that sounds convincing. Some people just want to be assured and guided, and when she holds open a container for the customer to study and smell the leaves, they latch onto it right away: “Yes, that looks right. I’m betting that’s the one.” Others will never be satisfied, almost like they are intent on finding reasons why “no, that’s not quite right.”
I drink Magnolia Oolong, (catalog description: gently scented with magnolia blossoms so that the cup is light, sweet, floral and invigorating), but only when I’m at the shop. At home, I’m a completely different person. I am Imperial Gold Yunnan (…composed almost entirely of golden tips. It is stunning to behold. It steeps up thick, rich, velvety, sweet, and bold with a long lingering aftertaste and an almost tactile silkiness) or China Black Special (brews up very hearty, rich, and smooth with a pronounced sweet note, almost caramel like). Previously, there were phases of Earl Grey White Tip (…a large portion of white tips--the most prized leaf of the plant--and blended with the finest oil of bergamot available. Incredibly aromatic and flavorful.). There was a time when I was irrationally enamored with Blue Beauty (…brews up very aromatic, sweet, floral, and slightly spicy with a pronounced silky texture. The leaf is sprinkled with ginseng and licorice root, and then folded many times so you will get many steepings from the same leaf), until later I wondered, “what was I thinking?” like when you wake up beside someone you only barely remember from the night before. Early on, one of my first loves was Rose Congou. It’s gone now. There’s a story behind that one, but not for today. I need to do research. I need to eavesdrop on the family that has sat at a table beside me. I need to spy the titles of the books stacked beside an older woman who sits alone.
Steam rises from the pots of water, creating clouds of mist that they have to swim through. Oh come on; this begs to be captured in art, in poetry, but I’ll resist. I have never been good at poetry anyway. I am here to think about my next short story, the Tea House. Research, so to speak. What are the questions customers ask? What kind of people wander in off the sidewalk without a clue of what they want, while others march in with an order scribbled on lined notepaper? I’ve brought along my writing tools; post-it pads and bright yellow file folders to storyboard the characters and conflicts, jot down the many blends of tea that can be entwined into subplots as metaphors. How much can you tell about a character by the kind of tea they drink?
Most customers have no clue what they are looking for, other than a specific something or other that they can’t seem to describe without sweeping generalizations. “I had this great cup of tea at a restaurant once, you know, a Chinese restaurant, or was it Mongolian? something sweet? kind of flowery? or grassy? with a kind of astringent aftertaste?”
Somehow the tea girls divine what they are looking for, or make something up that sounds convincing. Some people just want to be assured and guided, and when she holds open a container for the customer to study and smell the leaves, they latch onto it right away: “Yes, that looks right. I’m betting that’s the one.” Others will never be satisfied, almost like they are intent on finding reasons why “no, that’s not quite right.”
I drink Magnolia Oolong, (catalog description: gently scented with magnolia blossoms so that the cup is light, sweet, floral and invigorating), but only when I’m at the shop. At home, I’m a completely different person. I am Imperial Gold Yunnan (…composed almost entirely of golden tips. It is stunning to behold. It steeps up thick, rich, velvety, sweet, and bold with a long lingering aftertaste and an almost tactile silkiness) or China Black Special (brews up very hearty, rich, and smooth with a pronounced sweet note, almost caramel like). Previously, there were phases of Earl Grey White Tip (…a large portion of white tips--the most prized leaf of the plant--and blended with the finest oil of bergamot available. Incredibly aromatic and flavorful.). There was a time when I was irrationally enamored with Blue Beauty (…brews up very aromatic, sweet, floral, and slightly spicy with a pronounced silky texture. The leaf is sprinkled with ginseng and licorice root, and then folded many times so you will get many steepings from the same leaf), until later I wondered, “what was I thinking?” like when you wake up beside someone you only barely remember from the night before. Early on, one of my first loves was Rose Congou. It’s gone now. There’s a story behind that one, but not for today. I need to do research. I need to eavesdrop on the family that has sat at a table beside me. I need to spy the titles of the books stacked beside an older woman who sits alone.
Hasn’t nine years in this tea shop gathered for me enough story material? I’m only stalling, now. I’ve drained the dregs of the pot. Time to go.
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Other titles I liked for this entry:
--The Tea Girls Divine
--Stunning to Behold
--Which Tea Are You?
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