"Hello, we are Those People Who Keep Pestering the Baristas for Free Food."

I'm the man who spent a few hours in the coffee shop one night up until closing, and was offered a free pastry by a barista who was cleaning up, seeing as the danish would have to be thrown out and I had been a polite customer. However, I have interpreted this gracious act as setting a precedent for all subsequent visits, rather than a one time gesture of kindness. Rather than seeing the free food as a privilege, I now believe I am entitled to a free snack, regardless of the time, the price, or how busy the establishment is at the moment.

Now I sit at the bar, close to the display of muffins and bagels, and ask the employees for something free of charge every time they open the display. I am never daunted by a reply of "No," regardless how firm, repeating my request a dozen or so times during every visit to the coffee shop. Hey, they never should have offered me something free if they can't deliver every time I come!

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Pretend to be Coffee or Tea Snobs, But Really Aren't."

I'm the man who diligently looks over the various coffee bean selections, quietly reciting their names to myself: "Hmm, I don't think I want Ethiopian today... Could be a good day for Celebes..." and so on. I'm putting on the front that I can discern the nuances in flavor between the various blends, but it's obvious that I don't really know what I'm talking about since I pronounce "Celebes" as "celebs" and I always end up purchasing the house blend of the day. I would never admit this, however, instead declaring, "You know, I think I'm up for the smokey flavor of a light cup of Sumatran today," a sentence full of coffee-sounding jargon that makes no sense.

Or, I'm the woman who has to look through every packet of tea in the coffee shop premises, describing why each variety would or would not be good for today. "Hmmm, Earl Grey would suit me well for a rainy day, but I really don't think that Chamomile would put me in the right kind of mood." In the end, I just pick whatever packet looks the prettiest, chalking up my reasoning to the scent or the "smoothness" of the tea.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Think Everybody in the Coffee Shop Wants to Listen to Them Play Guitar."

I'm the local college guy who travels everywhere with his guitar readily accessible, prepared to sit beneath a nearby tree and woo passing females with my covers of Jack Johnson and Jason Mraz. For some reason, one of my favorite places to serenade others is the coffee shop. Originally I was content to sit out on the patio and croon faux-soulfully to everyone walking along the sidewalk outside, but lately I've being coming in and sitting on one of the couches quietly strumming and singing, stopping only to sip on my large soy chai latte with two pumps of chocolate.

A few cute co-eds in the shop think it's sensitive and attractive, but pretty much everybody else just finds it annoying. However, I am oblivious to the people on their laptops pulling on their headphones and the people reading newspapers and chatting occasionally casting glares in my direction. I know that, secretly, they just wish they were as talented as me.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Refuse To Move from the Counter After Ordering."

We are the group of two or three friends chatting nonstop while they stand in line, and we recognize the barista as a mutual acquaintance once we get up to the counter. We share in a fun conversation about the latest gossip in our circle of peers and all things popular culture. Somewhere in the midst of this we finally place our orders, to the relief of those in line behind us.

After we place our orders, however, we stay camped out by the cash register and continue our merry conversation. Completely oblivious to the line stretched out behind us and the open tables where we could sit, we remain stationary, so engrossed in our talk that we don't hear the man behind us imploring us to move on. The person behind us finally makes eye contact with the barista and has to raise his voice to order over our incessant chatter, and he mostly unsuccessfully tries to elbow his way to the counter to pay.

Eventually we receive our beverages, which those in line assume signals our long-awaited departure from the front of the queue. However, we simply remain standing, sipping on our drinks and ignorant of the people weaving around us to place their orders. Hey, this is a comfortable spot, so why should we bother with a table?

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Want Seasonal Items at All Times of the Year."

I'm the man who stopped by in June and had a summer-themed smoothie, a refreshing cool drink complete with a little umbrella in it to round out the sunny motif. Now it is the first days of November - the temperature has dropped into the 50s, people are breaking out their flannel shirts and heavy coats, and the local stores are already pushing Christmas merchandise toward the front of their seasonal displays. However, I yearn for another hint of summer, and stop by the coffee shop for my warm weather beverage.

I study the menu, noting that the space where the smoothies were advertised has been replaced by an advert for hot chocolate and apple cider. Undaunted, I still place my order for a summer drink as if it's only natural. The barista informs me that the item is no longer on the menu, so, upset and strangely surprised, I protest that surely they still have the ingredients. The barista gingerly tells me that the smoothies were phased out at the beginning of October and they simply cannot make me one. Angry now, I continue to protest, insisting that surely, surely they can still make summer drinks.

Finally they firmly insist that the summer drinks are gone. They offer a seasonal alternative, something more fitting for the cold weather. Insulted, I turn around and leave in a huff. It'd be nice to find a place with some stability!

It's very nice to meet you.