Where do I start? This guy looked so cool, with his hair in a bun and his big smile. Seemed so confident! Oh, what deception! The betrayal!

He grinded the coffee beans, into the hopper they went, pressed them to a puck, placed them in the machine, and…left.... Um, ok?

My mind started to cold-sweat. I looked at him, I looked at the hopper, back at him. My eyebrows attempting some form of sign language, begging him to “Save the espresso!” “Help! I need an adult!”

He steamed my milk, and steamed and steamed. The smell of porridge hit me as he came over to me and BAM! bashed the milk jug on the counter. I jumped. BAM BAM BAM! I looked at him in shock, thinking “What did that milk ever do to you?” I looked around, was anyone else seeing this? Was this karma for some unexplained wrongdoing of mine?

He left the milk to make the espresso, which must be well and truly burnt to a crisp by now, brought it over, grabbed the milk, and started swiveling it round, faster and more violently than a hooker on a pole (yes, that bad!) and sloshed it into my cup, placing it in front of me.

"There we are. Have a lovely day." He said, smiling at me.

I felt like holding on to the counter, as if drunk on a boat hit by a storm, wanting to scream “Lovely day? LOVELY DAY? I'll spend three months in therapy for this!” But I took my 'coffee' in my shaking hands and stumbled out, exhausted, head spinning.

When my pulse returned to a steady rhythm I tried the coffee. Shocking news: It was absolute crap. I could have gotten a better drink from filling my cup in the foamy puddle by the gasstation.

There are no words. Coffee went in the bin and I never went back. Because, even though he’s not there anymore, I just can’t seem to shake the feeling of seasickness.