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I was trapped. Never in all my travels
had I found myself in such a tight spot, and now, for the first
time, I honestly didn’t think I’d find a way of escape.
I looked up at my hulking opponent and saw the anticipation of victory
in his eyes. He slowly reached his hand toward the table, then suddenly
grabbed his rook and slid it across the chess board, knocking my
queen out of play.
Three days earlier, I’d missed a flight out of New York City.
I had some business to attend to in New Mexico, and, instead of
rescheduling my flight, I decided to drive cross-country. I enjoy
a nice long road trip every now and then, stopping at all the roadside
coffeehouses and sampling every “world famous” slice
of pie along the way. After my recent travels in Africa, a leisurely
drive through the American heartland sounded like just the thing.
And so it was that I found myself in a lonely, rustic little cafe
propped up on the banks of the mighty Mississippi. It wasn’t
a coffeehouse, specifically, but they served a surprisingly sophisticated
variety of the hot stuff, and whoever was brewing it knew what they
were doing. I was just finishing my first cup when I felt a heavy
tap on my shoulder.
I looked up to see a man the size of Mount Rushmore grinning down
at me. Anyone who knows me can tell you I’m not easily intimidated,
but this fellow looked like a close personal relation of Paul Bunyan’s.
I half-expected to see a blue ox nuzzling up behind him. He stuck
his giant thumb up over his shoulder and barked, “You play
chess?”
I looked behind him and saw a chess table sitting in the middle
of the room. I hadn’t noticed it when I’d first arrived,
but now that the pieces were set up, it was impossible to miss.
Hand-carved figures of cedar and mahogany stared at each other like
stoic soldiers on a checkered battlefield.
“You carve those?” I asked. It was just a hunch. He
nodded and continued staring at me, his challenge still hanging
in the air.
It’s my grandmother’s fault that I can’t resist
a game of chess. Growing up, I spent many a cold winter night facing
off with her across the chess board, and she didn’t just teach
me how to play, she taught me how to win. It’s a skill I can’t
help showing off whenever I get the chance.
Tonight, however, my powers were failing me. I’d underestimated
my opponent, and he’d managed to knock out most of my power
players. As he swept my queen from the board, I considered my situation.
I had both knights remaining, and a bishop. Not a good situation.
A small crowd had gathered around the table, and the waitress had
to push past a few of the onlookers to reach us. “Can I get
you boys anything?”
I looked up at her, happy for the distraction. “I’ll
have another french roast,” I said. It was a dark, smoky roast
with an exceptionally full body, and it fit my mood.
“Latte,” murmured my opponent. He didn’t look
up from the chess board. He was ready to end this contest, and he
tapped his fingers massive fingers against the table as he waited
for my next move.
Latte?
No wonder I couldn’t get a handle on his game -- I’d
taken him for an espresso drinker. I’d been playing him all
wrong. Espresso is strong, full-bodied, and intensely aromatic.
It’s a far cry from the light, creamy latte that he apparently
favored. I’d have to change my strategy, and quick.
As I waited for the server to return with our drinks, I studied
the game board and reconsidered my options. As I began to think
like a latte drinker, the whole game started to make sense. Life
is just like that, isn’t it? There’s a lesson in there
somewhere.
I leaned forward, grinning to myself. Now that I had him figured
out, I should be able to make short work of this game.
I looked up at my opponent and was startled to see him gaping at
me with a bewildered look on his face. “French roast?”
he said, quietly. “For crying out loud, I’ve been playing
you all wrong.”
It was going to be a long night.
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