Same ole?

I didn’t even see him, just heard, “Same ole?”

I spotted the smiling round face behind the row of coffee urns at the Second Cup I now frequent calling out in his accented English if I want the same drink as usual. It amazes me how fast he learned my rather average drink (large dark coffee), though my frequency and bright orange jacket may be a factor.

Getting to Second Cup from where I currently work involves passing the temptation of two other places that serve coffee. One sells coffee in support of their food selection and never has a line up, which having tried the coffee is perfectly understandable. The old, glass carraffs sitting on hot plates remind me of the old days. Could be the same coffee, too.

The other is Tim Hortons. I used to like Tim’s coffee. Tim Horton was my favorite hockey player. Whenever I would play sports where I received a number, I always wanted #7.

“Why do you want that number,” I was asked. “Lucky 7?”

“No,” I replied. “It’s the number Tim Horton wore when he played for Toronto.”

“Who?”

“Tim Horton. The hockey player,” I said to a blank stare. “Never mind, just give me the number.” I fear Tim will be remembered more for “Tim Bits” than his stellar defensive work and participating in Toronto’s last Stanley Cup. Alas, it won’t be for the coffee.

As I pass Tim’s I watch a long line of customers slowly move towards three servers, each with a sense of urgency written on their face. No recognition. No acknowledgement. They take the order and the customer moves to the side to pick up their food and drink from someone else as “next” is shouted. It all seems so automated; a human imitation of a vending machine. And that’s how the coffee tastes to me – mechanical. The image of the service is reflected in my perception of the taste. Tim’s is a place you stop on your way somewhere else; it’s not a destination any more. Not to me.

Both Tim’s and Second Cup are successful in their chosen models; they know who they are. As I continue along the tunnel to satisfy my new habit, it makes me ponder about what I want to be. I reflect on how I have unleashed more creativity and expression than in the past, particularly when teaching or facilitating. I enjoy seeing the “light go on” in others. I think about disruptive innovation as I hear, “Same Ole.”

The irony of satisfying a habit while thinking about breaking out of them is not lost on me.

“Yes,” I say.