Dimitri is easy to love. A happy-go-lucky Greek, tennis-loving father of two, he runs the coffee cart downstairs between the hours of seven and eleven.He makes a decent cup of coffee and even manages to make the decaf I'm drinking at the moment palatable. No matter what state you're in, he remembers your order and is happy and smiley along with it. The normal conversation runs something like this.
"Morning, Sparkles. Your normal."
"Thanks, Dim. A wanker coffee it is."
"Nothing wrong with skinny decaf. With you in a minute, Sparkles. Where's the lad and River?"
"You guys are always in meetings."
"That's what they pay us for."
He calls his favourite customers Sparkles.
Then we will have a chat about what's going on in the world at large normally about any and all subjects at large. It also depends on who's with me - as my coffee posse, made up of my current work husband and River, a football loving ex-techie and fellow foodie. A couple of times a week, the coffee posse swarm on Dim. It's all a part of the ritual.
Dim has the radio going as well and he's noticed that I zone in on what ever is playing.
Well, this morning, as I made my way downstairs, still a bit grumpy because I had to shower at the gym this morning as the hot water was still out, somewhat lethargic after a weekend of revising my uni assignments, I made my way to Dim's coffee cart. I started swaying to the beat.
"Who sings this, Dim?"
"21 Pilots. You know them?
"No, but I know the song."
It appears I have more of a rock and alternative music taste than Dim. That's okay. We agree on Delta Goodrem and the fact she should be sued for crimes against humanity for her version of "I Believe in a Thing Called Love."
And we agree on this song - though the chorus will get stuck in your head faster than the Muppet's singing Mah-Nah-Mah-Nah.