>be me, normal Japanese guy living in California
>just wanted a quiet Saturday morning coffee and a croissant at a local bakery
>step into a trendy Los Angeles café
>the guy behind the counter is 6'5", covered in neck tattoos, and has a beard that looks like a majestic owl lives in it
>he glares at me with the intensity of a prison warden: "What can I get started for you, boss?"
>my social anxiety spikes immediately; my brain short-circuits into "polite Japanese tourist" mode
>instead of saying "a black coffee," I accidentally blurt out: "I would like... one hot bean water, please."
>dead silence across the entire café
>the barista slowly stops wiping the counter, narrows his eyes, and stares into my soul
>oh god, I just called artisan, single-origin Colombian brew "hot bean water" to a heavily tattooed Los Angeles artisan
>he is going to throw me through the front window
>instead, a slow, terrifying grin spreads across his face
>he leans over the counter, lowers his voice, and whispers: "Hot bean water... damn. That's heavy. Real talk, man. I respect that."
>he turns to the espresso machine like he's mixing a chemical weapon in a Breaking Bad lab
>two minutes later, he slides a massive ceramic mug across the bar
>it's not a regular cup; it's a bowl-sized cauldron filled to the absolute brim with the darkest, most radioactive-looking liquid on Earth
>taste it: it is so strong it instantly cures my seasonal allergies and wakes up my ancestors
>I try to pay with a five-dollar bill, but he waves his hand dismissively:
>"Nah, man. The Bean Water is on the house for the philosopher. You keep that cash."
>try to politely explain that I am not a philosopher, just an idiot who forgot the English word for coffee
>he nods sagely, cutting me off: "Humble too. I dig it. See you next Saturday, Bean Water."
>now I am trapped.
>every weekend I have to walk into that hipster café looking dead-eyed, accept a lethal dose of black sludge, and nod solemnly at a man named Jax while he treats me like an underground cartel boss
>result: accidentally established dominance over a Los Angeles coffee shop using broken English and pure confusion
The issue is I have too much fun by myself and when people are trying to be a part of my life they're not competing against others but with how much fun I'd have by myself... Shit I think I'm a closeted introvert
@Symply_rhoda1 In our culture someone stranded or in distress isn't called a stranger; they are 'God's guest.' A guest's money holds no value here only their prayers do.