Rise of the Fall Menu

Grim dawn had broken over the Java Jar Coffee Bar. It was never a kind day to be a cynic, Lenny the Latte thought, yet what choice did he have? The day had arrived, and they were coming. They were coming for his customers. They were coming for his caffeine. They were coming for his soul. But they weren’t coming for him. Lenny gazed out the Drive-Thru window, fixed wordlessly upon the autumn expanse. Chill winds blew through the trees, whose ardent verdure was seared with ochre. Soon the leaves would be engulfed, and in cinders fall and crumble and become nothing. To greet the ground from lofty heights. How lonely it must be, Lenny thought, for a branch to carry into winter none of what it won in spring. 

“Lenny,” it was Frankie Frappuccino who spoke, hopping up beside him. His voice was thick with sorrow “it...it’s happening. A truck is dropping them off as we speak.”

Lenny shivered within his cardboard coffee cup sleeve.  

“They warned us,” Lenny whispered, barely audible even in the silence, “they warned us about exclusive seasonal offerings. What that business model could do to us. Folks have been eating blueberry pie all year but fall rolls around and suddenly BAM!” He shouted the word louder than he intended, “bam. Suddenly it’s all about pum-”

BAM!

The door flung open. Lenny grimaced as the sound of marching, lock step coffee and pastry items hammered into the room.

“HALT.” a voice shouted from the doorway. The cups halted, and for a moment there was silence. And then laughter, thin and hollow, slithering from a lid “well well well, if it isn’t Lenny the Latte.”

Lenny continued looking out the window. To his right the Frappuccino was sweating, pooling thick globs of water onto the Drive-Thru shelf. Frankie never did well in the heat. Even room temperature was too much. He was a summer drought, brewed and bought for a happier time. No Frappuccino could face this kind of pressure. Lenny scowled as he surveyed the landscape. But the latte. The latte was born in desolation, the wintery months, a mug of liquid fire to shatter the ice. His raison d'etre. 

He steeled himself and turned.

“Pamela the Pumpkin Spice Latte,” Lenny said evenly, “we’ve been...brimming... with anticipation. And I see you’ve brought the Six.”

The Six. The Fall Menu. Les chevaliers de l'automne. Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew, Salted Caramel Mocha, Salted Caramel Mocha Frappuccino, Pumpkin Scone and Pumpkin Cream Cheese Muffin. Part boy band, part black ops.

“I lead the Six,” Pumpkin Spice Pamela corrected, “They’ve printed my likeness on every billboard from here to downtown.”

“Well,” Frankie said, “Lenny and I are some of the bestselling drinks year-round.”

“...Mhm, that’s nice,” Pamela said, “and we thank you for your customer service. But it is the prerogative of the Fall Menu to assert its superiority from this location, during this season.” 

Lenny held his composure. Superiority. What a word. 

“The Fall Menu demands tribute,” Pumpkin Scone Patrick spat, “we demand command of your bakery. And we want fall decorations specifically heralding our arrival.”

“Our bakery is really more of a microwave-”

“And I demand access to your nitrogen laboratories!” Shouted Carl the Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew.

There was a moment of silence.

“If you are so amazing,” Lenny said slowly, “why don’t they put you on the regular menu?”

“It would detract from our mystique,” said Pamela.

“And what about our mystique?!” Cried Lenny, “The Original Menu has thanklessly held this position no matter what for months on end. Ellie the Espresso, Matteo the Macchiato. No one ever announces us or puts us on display! Yet here we are, ground to dust ‘neath the trends of the Fall Menu!”

“Enough!” Shouted Pamela, “enough of this. Corporate has already quantified the profitable level of holiday cheer. You may have kept Java Jar Coffee Bar afloat all these months but without us it’s over. We’re the closers. The fourth quarter finishers. So go back to your vats and await orders.”

Lenny bristled, but he knew Pumpkin Spice Pamela was right. A coffee roast was all well and good until someone boiled over. 

“Frankie,” Lenny muttered, “let’s go.”

Lennie jumped off the Drive-Thru window and onto the counter. The Fall Menu advanced wordlessly, like a tide. Immediately they began rearranging shelves and cabinets with their own ingredients, pushing aside whatever Original Menu nonsense got in their way. It was the same as every year, Lenny thought. They come in at the last moment to take all the glory.

Pumpkin reflavorings. It was madness. Would salsa verde lattes be next? Or salmon mochas? The mind reeled with such reckless creativity. Lenny sighed. It hardly mattered now, of course. All he could do was wallow in obscurity until whatever uncustomary customer deigned to purchase a plain latte in the age of pumpkin spice.

Lenny wandered over to another window and stared out. The shop would be opening soon. Not that it would matter. He thought about the discontinued Maple Macchiato and the Dark Barrel Latte. Such was the fate of the unprofitable. He sighed and meandered back behind the counter and into one of the backrooms. 

Shelves of beans and vats of coffee were lined up against the walls. Lenny walked up to a bag of premium arabica and punched it. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Perhaps you should be more careful with the beans. I need those you know.” Lenny started and spun to face the voice.

“Regular Coffee Reginald?” Lenny exclaimed, “I didn’t even realize you were here.”

“I’ve always been here,” Reginald said, “where no one notices me. But I’ve been here longer than anyone else too.”

“Well, the Fall Menu has arrived,” Lenny said sadly, “so I suppose I’ll be here in the back a lot too.”

“The back isn't so bad," Reginald said, "the other flavors come and go, but classics like you and I will always be here."

"Surviving under the glory of our superiors?"

"Hardly. We needed to come first so that they could be what they are."